


I'm Alone

by AmbroseVox



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action, Adventure, Drama, Gen, Halo - Freeform, Human-Covenant War, Hurt/Comfort, Military Adventure, Military Drama, OCs - Freeform, ODSTs, Original Characters - Freeform, Romance, UNSC, UNSC Navy, science-fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 157,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28670946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmbroseVox/pseuds/AmbroseVox
Summary: As the Human-Covenant War rages on, a tight-knit band of UNSC Marines find themselves newly assigned to the advanced super-heavy cruiser UNSC I'm Alone. However, the ship's new commanding officer shares a bond of fury and anguish against one of the Marines which could ignite a personal conflict that could divide the small titanium world they live in and last throughout the war.
Kudos: 2





	1. Skopje Night Lights

Most nights on Skopje were moonless and starless. Like any other night, a blanket of pure, unbreakable darkness hung over the vast urban networks that sprawled across the terraformed grasslands and valleys. Rain steadily cascaded downwards. It was as dark as it could get. Yet, despite the natural blackout, the cities always cast a pale glow skyward. One such city was Lionel, one of the oldest colony populace centers on Skopje. The inner city was radiantly lit and the streets swarmed with late-night pedestrians drifting from clubs and restaurants. A few yellow and white lights from its many skyscrapers, warehouses, factories, and residential areas attributed somewhat to the ghostly glare, but the surrounding suburbs were very dark. In the middle of the night there were few folk who weren’t asleep. It was a quiet, old place. 

The real source of the refulgent light came from the building yards nestled along the coastline of the city. These sites were the most brightly lit and alive with activity no matter what time of day it was. These lights ranged from orange sparks emanating from tools, white beams from projector lights, and a dark yellow ambiance from staging lights set along worker’s platforms and walkways that lined the silver armor plating slowly being built into the shape of starships. Each yard and their lights could be seen from any part of Lionel City or the surrounding landscape. Always accompanying the dull radiance and flashes was an eerie orchestra of noise drifting over the gentle breeze coming from the sea. It was composed of harsh yelling, metallic clattering of heavy machinery, whirring engines, hissing steam, laser precision welding tools, rattling drills, and the occasional bout of laughter from a crew on break.

Once slow and hushed, Lionel City’s shipyards were constantly tasked and had been for the past twelve years. Instead of luxury liners and colonization vessels, frigates, destroyers, and cruisers were being produced as fast as possible. The Covenant threat was far away from Skopje and the Inner Colonies, but with reports of genocidal devastation being delivered unto the Outer Colonies a sense of trepidation and fear gripped the tens of thousands of Lionel residents who listened to the familiar sounds of the shipyards at night. 

The more active threat to the colonists, however, came from their old enemy. Several contingents of Insurrectionists had begun to filter into the Inner Colonies, losing ground and influence in the Outer Colonies. Quietly, they began to spread anti-UNSC propaganda, started thieving from their outposts, and were trying to recruit colonists to their beliefs. 

It was a malignant aspect in every resident’s mind. Each waited for the day when conflict arose on their sleepy world. Anyone who was still awake would have their dread realized as they noticed the small fleet of darkened Pelican dropships descend from the midnight sky. 

In an abandoned, dilapidated building project just outside Lionel City, there sat a small apartment building complex. Inside, a fifteen year old girl sat down defeatedly at the kitchen table. She rested her face in the palms of her hands, briefly listening to the distant sounds of the shipyards mingling with the whist of rain. Her parents were there right now. They wouldn’t be back until around six in the morning after a grueling fourteen hours shift. In peacetime, they would have been considered crazy for working such backbreaking hours. But peace was a long forgotten, strange entity. Her mother and father weren’t working double shifts nearly every day because they wanted extra pay or promotions. Both devoted to the cause and knew they could still be a part of the war effort even if they couldn’t pick up a rifle anymore. Making sure the titanium armor settled firmly was just as important as any other job in the UNSC, they believed.

She wondered what they would think of her right now, knowing she was in this crumbling apartment, talking with these people. 

“Vivian, this _is_ the right choice,” Carla said, lightly slamming her hands on the table. Her hazel eyes gazed menacingly at Vivian. Vivian knew that glare; she had seen it since she was little. Carla had always been strong and defiant. She had unceasingly defended her when kids tried to pick on her at school. It seemed, from the beginning of her life, she was the big sister she never had. Unfortunately, her surrogate sister was ready to pummel her. 

Vivian’s more calm friend, Joanna, put a gentle hand on Carla’s shoulder. 

“Go easy on her,” she said, not soothingly but not too firmly, “we’re not here to scare her.”

Joanna was the definition of level-headedness. They often teased her and called her the group leader, as if they were a pack of friends from a teenage drama. It was a title she ultimately despised even when they were little. But she was the oldest at seventeen, and already had the features of an adult. She was tall, with neat long hair, and she wore her clothes maturely.

“Yeah, we’re just here to coerce, oh I mean, help her make a decision,” Willow quipped dryly, who was sitting with her feet propped up on the table. She was a wise-cracker by nature, although not particularly funny. Willow’s pale blonde hair nearly matched her skin tone. Her attitude often landed them in trouble throughout their lives. She sat up and groaned. “Look Viv, we’re your friends, we’ve been friends since, like, before preschool. You can’t ditch us like this.”

Vivian frowned.

“I thought peer-pressure was something they only talked about at the anti-bully lectures,” she muttered. “Never thought I’d get it from you guys.”

The others grumbled, glared, or rolled their eyes. Vivian pushed a lock of her dirty blonde hair behind her ear, anxiously

“Don’t even bring that crap up. That’s not what this is. _This_ is more important than anything we’ve ever done,” said Andrea, storming out from the darkness of the small living room. 

Vivian let herself look past her angry friend into the living room. Apparently, from what they told her when she arrived, someone told them this meeting had to be secretive. Vivian didn’t know who that someone was, although she imagined it was probably the crook who got them all thinking this way in the first place. And whoever he or she was, they had her friends wrapped around their finger; the windows had dark curtains covering them, and the door and all of the windows were locked. The small living space was filled with a pair of stained couches, a few weathered armchairs, plus a crummy futon. The only lights were situated in the kitchen area, where they sat at the table. The apartment hardly felt like a fortress, let alone a secretive meeting spot.

Her brief train of thought was broken as Andrea approached the table, forcibly pulled a chair out, and sat down with a great amount of frustration evident in her posture. 

“Vivian, we’re not little kids anymore,” she growled, “we’re almost adults. And we’re not stupid either. We know what’s going on. The guy we talked to said humanity is being wiped out by the millions every single day. The people in the Outer Colonies are being slaughtered and murdered in droves. And the UNSC is hardly lifting a finger!” 

Andrea’s red hair matched her passionate personality. Her dark eyes always struck Vivian, not only in their beauty but in their fierceness. Those piercing eyes defused numerous situations before they came to a head. They were enough to make anyone’s fortitude melt. 

But for once Vivian was resolved; she wasn’t going to cave in from that stare.

“Rea, that’s just complete garbage,” she started, shaking her head, “you think those aliens are just coming to each world and burning everyone alive while the UNSC ships just sit there and watch? You’re an idiot to believe that kind of propaganda. UNSC people are dying trying to save the Outer Colonists, the people Insurrectionists have basically hated and fought against for like, I dunno, forty years! Isn’t that enough proof that the UNSC is doing all it can do? My dad told me about a ship that saved a whole bunch of people and the entire Arcadia colony. That was in 2531, and now it’s 2537, and the UNSC is still dying for the Outer Colonies.”

“Why’re you defending them so much?” Joanna demanded.

“Yeah, I thought you said you don’t like them all too much,” Carla added, “you’ve bad-mouthed them plenty of times before.” 

“And that’s coming from a girl with ex-Marines for parents,” Willow said with a wave of her hand.

“You’re right, I don’t like them, but I respect them enough for what they’re doing and what they stand for. And so should you, so wake up guys. I mean, are we seriously having this discussion? We’re just a bunch of teenagers, it’s not like we can spark some kind of popular revolution!”

Vivian found herself standing up and staring angrily at her friends. Her hands were gripping the edge of the table and her lips were drawn into a scowl. Joanna, Carla, Andrea, and Willow exchanged glances. They had each gauged Vivian and were now looking to each other to see what their next step should be.

“No, Viv, you wake up.”

Rosanne walked over from where she had been standing at the window. If there was anyone who could be called serious, it was Rosanne. Her unflinching attitude existed since she was very young. She wasn’t quick to laugh or smile, and those rarities were only displayed for the other teeangers standing in the room.

She walked over and put a hand on Vivian’s arm.

“Vivian, we believe in the Insurrectionists’ ideals. They want independence. They want freedom. Those are rights every human being deserves. The UNSC tried to take those away, and they’ve been trying for forty years.”

Vivian took a step away, pulling her arm away from Rosanne’s light grasp. She rubbed her temples aggravatedly before turning back to face her.

“Rosanne, be real. Look at the CAA and the CMA; they’re paradoxes. Enormous amounts of power they used to oppress the Outer Colonies, and yet they lacked the infrastructure to maintain it. They tried, oh they tried. High taxes, trade restrictions, corruption, that’s not lost on me. The Insurrectionists tried to be reasonable and they got fed up, I get it. But the bombings, kidnappings, hijackings, assassinations? They became _terrorists_! The UNSC had to respond with violence.”

Rosanne shrugged.

“Whatever the case—”

“There is no case!” cried Vivian, “That’s the way it was! You guys are letting the rebels brainwash you with bogus propaganda nonsense! We all know better than that!”

Then Joanna cut in.

“It doesn’t matter! The UNSC can’t win this fight against the Covenant. Even if they do, what will it be like after the war?”

Carla nodded in agreement.

“The UNSC will be so afraid of the Insurrection afterwards they’ll start putting those same restrictions on the Inner Colonies. Besides, they’ve been running things for so long they won’t want to give it up. They’ll just find a new enemy to justify their actions.”

“The people we spoke to have the right of it,” stated Andrea. “The best thing to do is gather food, equipment, vehicles, and basically whatever supplies we need to sustain ourselves and hunker down in remote areas and sit it out. 

Willow leaned forward, smiling.

“And the Covenant will just bypass us, they won’t even notice or bother with little groups. We can live a free, safe life.”

Everyone continued to make their points but Vivian shut her eyes tight, shaking her head. She drowned out their voices. It was too much for her. Rosanne, Joanna, Carla, Willow, and Andrea had been her closest friends, her only friends, since they were three years old. They had been bullied, picked on, and humiliated together. They had sleepovers, dinner parties, movie and game nights, study sessions, and had become high school’s high honor students together. Now, Vivian felt betrayed by them. Having each others’ backs was the group code and here they were trying to convince her to leave all she knew behind. That all but decimated their unspoken rule. 

What made it even worse was that Vivian sympathized with them and the people they wished to join. She was always interested in current events and with the Insurrection still on, there was plenty of information on it. The Colonial Administration Authority made the Outer Colonists’ lives a living hell. No person, no matter their beliefs, Vivian thought, should have to carry the enormous weights of ridiculous regulations and apathetic authority on their shoulders. Vivian couldn’t abide violence but when protests and negotiations failed, what else is there? One could sit there and take it on the chin, or fight back. She believed in freedom and independence. History proved that various peoples and countless nations achieved those goals often through war, a war that usually followed lengthy peaceful methods. And more often than not, these underdogs won in some way. Wouldn’t it be ideal to join them, follow their strategies, and live in undoctored freedom where there was a chance annihilation would give them a miss?

Yet something tugged at the back of her mind. A thought, an idea. Was the UNSC not one of those underdogs right now? Here was the UNSC, fighting on behalf of all humankind to preserve their colonies and their way of life from a race of aliens who believed it was their mission to destroy them. That made them a defender of freedom, or perhaps a guardian of something even greater. Not just the right to say, do, think, and live the way one wanted to, but the right to exist. That was a form of freedom fighting humanity as a whole never faced before: a fight for the future. 

Vivian opened her eyes and sighed, causing the others to quiet themselves. She looked at every one of her friends, five girls she knew since she was a toddler who grew up with her into young women. They each stared back at her with hopeful and expectant eyes. 

She took a deep breath.

“No.”

The others’ brightened faces darkened and their brief exhilarated expressions deflated. 

“Why?” Joanna whispered, “The UNSC can’t win. We can survive if we go with the Insurrectionists.”

“And do what? Steal ships, weapons, food, and supplies people all over the galaxy need?” Vivian shook her head, “No, I won’t have a part in that. I know I’m not a soldier. If I was, I know I’d be behind the fight for freedom and independence, but I wouldn’t be willing to target innocent people and their property and their necessities just because they are under a different flag.”

Willow groaned.

“Viv, normal people wouldn’t get hurt, they’d-”

“Oh, yeah? Didn’t you pay attention in history class? Millions of innocent people who were just trying to get by were killed by both the Insurrectionists and the UNSC. The rebels aren’t any better than the UNSC, and the UNSC is no better than the rebels, except for the fact that the UNSC don’t target Insurrectionist civilians on purpose.”

The others shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting away from Vivian. 

“But I won’t stop you,” she continued, “and I won’t fight you. It’s your choice. You can choose a side and leave your families behind for some rebel snake charmers.”

“And you won’t?” Rosanne murmured. “You’ll just stay in the middle?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Vivian stated menacingly, glaring at Rosanne. The latter’s mouth opened a little in astonishment, before it pressed once more into a tightened line. 

There was a long pause. After some time, Carla sighed.

“Viv, we don’t want to do this without you. We’ve been together forever, done everything together. We don’t want to go without you.”

Vivian suddenly felt terribly sad. Part of her felt it was a guilt trip, but Carla was one of the most honest people she knew and she could feel the genuineness in her voice. 

“And I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to leave your families behind, especially at a time like this. I certainly don’t want you to leave _me_ behind. But,” Vivian offered a somber smile, “I love you guys. You’re my best friends and I respect you enough to let you make your own decisions.” 

There was a long, dreadfully painful silence. One by one Vivian’s friends seemed to sag in their seats. Their stiffened postures sank and sadness clouded their eyes. Then, they all managed to smile. Their eyes became watery and their lips began to tremble. Vivian felt her heart skip a beat. This was it. This was going to be goodbye. This was going to be the final time she ever laid on her best friends, her only friends in her life. Twelve years of incredible bondship was dissipating before her very eyes. 

“We’ll miss you,” Joanna finally croaked out, holding back a sob.

Carla nodded in agreement.

“We’ll think about you all the time.”

Andrea wiped her nose.

“We’ll stay out of trouble, so don’t worry about us.”

“Maybe we’ll send you some vid-mails from time to time when no one’s looking, just like we used to do when we were grounded,” Willow added, feigning a cheeky smile to compensate for the tears rolling down her cheeks. 

A labored sigh escaped Rosanne’s lips before they formed a smile.

“Just promise that you won’t forget us.”

Vivian felt hot tears stream down her face as everyone got up and approached her. Rosanne grasped Vivian’s hand. “Please, don’t ever forget us, or why we left. Never forget.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Vivian smiled encouragingly, before hugging her friend.

Before the others could join the embrace, there was a _click_ , and the door to their apartment flew open, slamming against the wall. The six teens all jumped and gasped as a tall figure wearing aged ballistic armor with a grayish hue locked the door and came towards them. He wore a balaclava that covered his whole head and had two holes cut in it for his eyes. 

The others tensed at his appearance, while Vivian stood in confusion.

“Ward, what’s wrong? Why’d you barge in here? I thought you were keeping watch while the meetings took place,” Joanna said quickly.

“That’s why I’m here. We heard a whisper from a sympathizer in Lionel City. The UNSC is sending some kind of strike force here, they must have gotten wind of our meeting.”

“How!?” Carla snapped.

“We’ve probably got a leak somewhere in our higher up division. It doesn’t matter, I brought you these.”

That was when Vivian noticed he was carrying a small crate. He set it down on the table and took the lid off. He procured five M6 series pistols. Vivian knew the iconic weapon well; both her parents were allowed to keep their sidearms after they were discharged. The pistols were kept in a safe in her parents’ bedroom.

But that thought was far from her mind as fear began to grip her chest. Her companions visibly paled.

“It’s just in case, I doubt you’ll have to use them. My bet is those UNSC pigs are taking their sweet time setting up a raid here. They always move too slowly. I’m gonna escort you to the safe zone outside this complex and then help you get back to your homes, alright? First you all need to arm up and take a couple magazines. Like I said, just as a precaution.”

Everyone hesitated for a few moments. The rebel, Ward, had dark eyes and they stared at each of Vivian’s friends expectantly.

Surprisingly, Joanna was the first to pick up one of the handguns. Since she was considered to be the most passive of the group on top of being the wisest, Vivian was all too shocked to see Joanna hold it in one of her small, slender hands.

“Well, you’ve never done wrong by us, Ward. You heard him guys.”

Everyone else, save Vivian, took up arms. Ward was holding a pistol as well. Vivian was scared. He had an even tone to his voice that just didn’t match his rugged, imposing demeanour. From what she heard Joanna say, he was probably the one who had convinced them to join the Insurrectionists. Vivian’s fear of him doubled to dislike. Aside from that, her growing uneasiness sprung up from the UNSC’s presence. She may have respected them to a degree but she held no great love for them, even if her parents served once. All the same, she didn’t want to be caught with the Rebels and be taken prisoner. Hating herself, she accepted she had to rely on the Insurrectionists to get her out of this mess.

Ward walked over to one of the windows. The shades were pulled down to conceal the few lights that had been on during the meeting.

“Okay,” Ward stated, “I can see some of the other groups starting to leave their spots. I think we should wait half a minute to give them a little space, and then follow after them. How does that sound?”

Vivian was watching him as he spoke while the others fumbled to get the ammunition magazines for their new weapons into their small pockets. As he finished his sentence he had turned to look back at them. 

Suddenly the glass window shattered, there was a massive fleshy _thump_ sound, and Ward released only a grunt as he was thrown off his feet. He landed in the center of the living room on top of the coffee table. 

Vivian was frozen to her spot as she heard the report of a long range rifle. She watched, shaking, as blood oozed from the gaping hole in Ward’s chest. 

“Oh my god,” murmured one of her friends.

The sound of gunfire broke the silence of the night, followed a mere moment after by terrified screaming and harsh military voices barking commands.

“Shit!”

“They’re already here,” Carla pulled one of the curtains back, and Vivian caught a glimpse of bright yellow flashes cutting through the darkness with every blast of gunfire. It was like seeing hundreds of fireflies speeding towards their building.

Vivian felt someone grab her roughly by the shoulders. Rosanne pulled her into the kitchen and opened the tall pantry door beside the fridge. There was enough space for a person to stand or sit in the pantry with the door closed. 

“Wait, Rosanne-”

“Shut up Viv,” her friend growled and roughly shoved her inside, “shut up and listen to me. Do _not_ get out of there until the noise dies down or at least moves away. No matter what happens, do not get out of there until you’re positive they’re far enough away so you can leave. Okay?”

Vivian nodded violently, her hair loosely falling around her horrified face. 

“It’ll be okay, Viv,” Joanna said from across the room with a melancholy smile.

“Hear that? They’re coming up the steps! What do we do!?” Willow hissed.

Rosanne pushed Vivian to a sitting position and closed the door. 

“Shut off the lights!” Andrea whispered, and within a moment the apartment was dark.

The pantry door had slats in the center from top to bottom. The spaces between them were just large enough so that Vivian could peer through. Her friends became shadows in the darkened apartment. They stood as still as statues. Vivian knew who was where, even in the dark. She knew their figures all too well. Willow pressed her ear to the door, although she was mostly out of sight. Joanna stood in the back of the living room, a couple of feet away from the center coffee table where Ward’s body had come to rest. Andrea and Carla were to the left of the kitchen table, directly across from the pantry. Finally, Rosanne was just behind the table, but not in the way of Vivian’s view. Vivian thought she saw Roseanne swipe a knife from the table into her sweatshirt pocket.

The only sounds to be heard besides the rampaging storm of gunfire outside was the seemingly never ending pounding of booted feet hastily making their way up the apartment steps. The building itself was around seven stories tall, and they were at the very top. Vivian heard other doors being smashed to splinters, followed by quick pleas or defiant hollering then by gunfire and painful howling. Louder and louder the cacophony became. It seemed as though the entire building was shaking. Vivian squeezed her eyes shut, hugging her knees as close to her chest as she could get them. 

Eventually, the noise inside the building abruptly ended. Vivian opened her eyes and surveyed the apartment once more. She heard a muffled breath from one of her friends, a sniffle from another. They remained still, and remained quiet. 

The door burst open and struck Willow. Vivian saw her stumble from the impact and hit the wall behind her. A bright white light suddenly illuminated her. Vivian could see her fear-filled face perfectly.

“Freeze! Drop the weapon!” 

Willow was still recovering from the impact, her face was filled with fear. Her eyes were wide, her teeth clenched. Her hair was loose and was starting to fall over her face.

“Drop the weapon!” the voice barked. 

Willow was shaking. Vivian’s breath stopped as she saw her friend’s eyes focus. Willow snapped her arm up, aiming the pistol. Before she was able to fire, a burst from an assault rifle was fired. Despite the yellow flashes from the barrel hurting her eyes, Vivian saw the rounds striking her friend and bloodying her torso. Her body slid down the wall, hit the floor, and crumpled to the side. 

Someone darted into the room and raised their assault rifle. A flashlight was attached to the underside of the barrel and it flashed onto Joanna. The attacker began firing. In the brief flares of yellow light from the rifle, Vivian could see that the soldier wore dark green ballistic armor with rigid alloy coverings over camouflage fatigues. The burst he fired found its mark in Joanna’s gut, which tore her open. She let out a brief, sharp cry before she doubled over.

“Murderer!” one of her surviving friends shouted. The attacker swept his rifle from left to right, emptying his clip into the kitchen. The white light beaming from the underbarrel flashlight came with it. Bullets tore into the wooden cupboards, sliced through metal surfaces, and shattered glass cups. Even as the rounds flew through the pantry door right over her head and splinters rained down on her, Vivian watched as Roseanne, Andrea, and Carla were riddled. In the light, she saw blood and bits of flesh fly from their bodies, watched them shudder as round after round hit them. But what Vivian saw the most clearly out of everything was the shooter’s young face. The soldier wore a helmet and goggles, but his lower face was uncovered. She saw that his lips were parted and his perfectly white teeth were gritting together as he swept his rifle across the room, his upper body shaking from the recoil of the weapon. When he finally ran out of ammunition, Vivian’s three remaining friends all collapsed to the floor. 

It was over in less than fifteen seconds.

Vivian wondered for a moment if she died, if one of the bullets landed in her brain or her heart. She realized after a few seconds that she was indeed alive, and that she could not begin to comprehend what she had just beheld. Bullets had torn through the top of the pantry. Dust and splinters settled on her hair and shoulders.

“Ah Jesus, Jesus Christ...” she heard the killer murmur to himself. 

Darkness returned to the room, save for his flashlight beam, but the silence only stayed briefly. There was a moan from in front of her and she realized that Roseanne was still alive. Hearing that low, pained cry made her want to jump out to help her. But her instincts, her fear, forced her to stay. She heard the UNSC Marine slowly make his way over to her, reloading his rifle. His leather boots crunched over glass and shards of wood. Finally he stood over Roseanne, who was an undetailed black form in Vivian's vision until the Marine aimed the flashlight attachment at her. Roseanne was revealed, her clothes stained red, blood flowing from several large dark red, pulsing holes in her body. The Marine still remained shrouded in darkness. He detached the flashlight and slung his rifle over his shoulder. He kept the light on Roseanne and with his free hand reached into his back pocket.

Roseanne grabbed and then raised her pistol quickly and the barrel came into the man’s face. But he was faster. He snatched her wrist and pointed it upwards as the pistol went off. Roseanne groaned in pain.

“Almost got me. You’re pretty good,” the Marine said, his voice awash with fatigued superiority.

“Murderer...” Roseanne coughed. Vivian withheld a gasp as Roseanne lurched upwards with a cry, brandishing the knife from her pocket. The Marine, with lightning reflexes, caught her wrist before the tip of the blade sliced his throat. Roseanne grunted with effort to shove the knife further, putting her hand on the bottom of the pommel to push it up into her opponent’s neck. She heard the Marine let out a labored breath, then the flashlight tumbled. In that instant, Vivian saw his combat knife flash and disappear. The flashlight spun on the floor. There was a sickening sound of metal sinking into flesh. After a few moments, the flashlight stopped, the brilliant white light illuminating Roseanne. The Marine had driven his blade into Roseanne’s neck up to the hilt. Roseanne’s arm slid down to the floor. Her body spasmed a few times, then finally went still. 

Vivian watched the Marine withdraw his knife and grab the flashlight. He turned it off and stepped away. Another pair of booted feet entered the room.

“How many?” asked the new arrival, who possessed an English accent. 

“Five. Five girls with pistols,” answered the one who had pulled the trigger, whose voice was un-accented. He let out a long breath. “Fuck, the last one nearly cut my throat. I had to kill her with my, my uh...” he waved his combat knife briefly.

“Sure,” said the other, “what did ya expect from this lot? How’d you get that close anyways?”

“I was, I was trying to...I was...”

“Easy, easy. Never mind.”

Vivian saw the new arrival put an arm around the first’s shoulders for a few moments. After they parted, nothing was exchanged between the two for a minute. Vivian heard the one who did the killing sheath his knife. The other moved about the room, using a flashlight connected to the left side of his helmet to examine the bodies. 

“Christ man, ya going to cut them up now?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You heard me! You gonna slice and dice them up and send a kidney to the local inspector?” 

The English one laughed at what he said.

“If that’s a joke I’m not following it, and that’s pretty sick,” the shooter said.

“Aw come on, don’t you study history? Ain’t ya heard of Jack the Ripper? Killed five girls in London all the way back in the Nineteenth Century. Never got caught either. Ain’t that somethin’?” 

“Yeah,” said the other one, who didn’t sound as amused or intrigued as his compatriot.

The other laughed a bit more and clapped a hand on his companion’s shoulder pauldron, “Well, I think I just met a new Jack the Ripper.”

“I’m not gonna butcher their bodies if you think you’ll get a laugh out of it.”

His voice was still stiff, but had more bemusement in his tone, or at least that’s what it sounded like to Vivian.

The Englishman laughed.

“Not even a kidney, Frost?”

“Come on, let’s move out.” 

Vivian heard their steps head toward the door, but their chatter didn’t stop there.

“Time to disappear into a dark alley now, eh?”

“Quiet,” was the shooter’s response.

More laughter came from his friend, followed by.

“We should get you a top hat.”

“Stop it.”

“Maybe a gentleman’s cape or cloak from those days!”

“Enough, man.”

“Ooh, why don’t we find some red marker-pens and write a new letter to the inspector?”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

The laughter and bickering faded, as did the sounds of shooting outside. The attacking force of UNSC troopers moved off, chasing the few survivors of the rebel contingent. 

Vivian sat for what seemed like an eternity. She was trembling and tears ran down her cheeks. Her eyes were still wide with fear and she did not want to leave the pantry closet. She did not want to lay eyes upon her dead friends and she didn’t want to step over their mangled bodies or in their pools of blood. No, she couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to believe they were gone. She begged with God, with all things good, with every cosmic deity and entity she knew. Vivian pleaded and prayed that it was all a horrible nightmare, that she’d wake up and go to school the next day and see their smiling, glowing faces. Yet every time she grew close to convincing herself it was just a dream, she opened her eyes and saw the shadows of her dead friends, smelled their torn flesh, and the smoke from cordite.

Twelve years. Twelve years of friendship, care, support, and loyalty, was destroyed in just as many seconds. They were dead. 

Vivian buried her face into her knees, wanting to sob and scream and vomit but couldn’t bring herself to do any of it. As the tears continued to silently roll down her cheeks, her mind latched onto what Rosanne said to her.

Vivian rocked back and forth, repeating the two words in her head.

_Never forget. Never forget. Never forget. Never forget._

The image of the man who had killed them flashed into her mind, his young face contorted and his teeth clenched as he gunned them down. Vivian stopped her rocking and looked up, focusing on where he had stood in the room, seeing him there as if he was a ghost.

“Never forget,” Vivian whispered to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to I'm Alone, a re-edited version of the original story I finished back in 2019. It was a bit of a hit, so I've decided to update it and expand its online profile a bit. You can find the original, un-edited version on my Fanfiction.net profile, AmbroseVox, or a PDF version for cleaner reading, on my DeviantArt, RadiationSoap.


	2. 2544, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7 years later, in the Outer Colonies...

The Pelican dropship’s interior was dark save for a dull red light. In the passenger compartment, a squad of Marines sat in silence. They were in full gear, weapons propped up between their legs. Hardly a movement was made among them, each man lost in their own mind. The light illuminated their faces in a ghastly way; it made their skin look the color of crimson and caused their helmets to cast a dark shadow over their eyes. Their armor was scratched and dented. Their bearded faces were weary.

Corporal Frost pressed the mouth of his canteen against his lips and took a long drink. He sighed quietly, then capped the canteen and clipped it back to his belt. Slowly, he looked back up and gazed at the men around him. They had just left the deployment bay of a carrier and were headed planetside. The planet was called Ambition, largely unexplored, although it was a prime colony planet. Top brass wanted to increase the size of the base and convert it into a refueling and refitting station for starfleets on the prowl in Outer Colony space. Security was to be increased before the major engineer and construction crews arrived. 

Lance Corporal Steele, a member of his squad, had remarked under his breath during the briefing that it would be a lovely break from their frontline activity. He wasn’t wrong; a garrison detail was practically a vacation. The past year their unit had been hopping from one Outer Colony planet to the other, fending off the advancing Covenant fleets. It was a grueling, unsuccessful effort. Despite the losses and heavy fighting throughout the UNSC, their unit received few casualties and racked up a higher ground victory count, at least in comparison to other Army and Marine units that had gotten smeared across the board. All the same, it was a horrendous experience.

Frost’s stomach knotted on the inside, knowing better than to think they were safe, but garrison duty on an undeveloped colony world, playing nurse over some engineers, combined with showers and hot food, was a dream come true. Even though the journey took some time, leaving Frost an opportunity to rest, his muscles were strained, his back continued to ache, and it felt as though there was no energy left within him. 

Hopefully, Steele was right, he thought. 

The pair sat on the right side of the passenger bay, with Frost on the very end and Steele to his right. Steele was a talkative Englishman, with thick blonde hair, a well-trimmed mustache, vivid blue eyes, and a long, narrow face. He was sitting relaxedly in his seat, his legs outstretched and his arms folded behind his head. 

Across from them, there were the two Scotsmen, Lance Corporals Bishop and Maddox. Bishop was stocky, had a square face and head complemented by short auburn hair, a thick beard, and dark brown eyes. His compatriot, Maddox, was slimmer and the shortest man in the squad, standing just at five feet and six inches. He had orange-blonde hair, a goatee, two glaring hazel eyes, and a thin face. 

There was another Englishman, from a town in Yorkshire. Private First Class Knight had a gentle demeanor but was as big as Bishop, albeit a bit rounder. He had a full face, brown-blonde hair, a closely trimmed beard, and light green eyes.

The rest of the squad was made up of PFC’s Moser of Germany and Grant from the States. Then there was Sergeant Teo, who hailed from Italy. Teo was a stout man with tan skin, crew cut hair and a thick black beard. Grant was African-American; he had a fit, thin physique, and dark stubble growing on his cheeks. His face possessed a natural, warm expression which was matched by a pair of bright amber eyes. Moser was the oldest member of their squad at twenty-five years old. He had jet black hair and a thick beard. His features were hard and strong, and his eyes were the color of honey. His voice was deep and he possessed a muscular frame. His pale complexion often led newcomers to think he was ill. 

Frost looked down from his comrades for a moment. He took off his helmet and smoothed back his light brown hair. Possessing an average build, Frost had a short beard, gray eyes, and a full angular face with sharp features. After clapping his helmet back on his head, he took another look at his companions. A hardened bunch of veteran marines, all from Earth. Frost chuckled. Hell, their squad weren’t the only ones; the entire 89th MEU was made up exclusively of Earthborn men.

The Pelican jerked suddenly, jolting everyone in their seats. The pilot’s voice crackled in their ear pieces. 

“Entering atmosphere,” he murmured. Frost leaned forward, looking through the slim entryway leading to the cockpit. Looking through the windscreen, he watched as the planet’s continents shrank, becoming more defined as they drew closer. Eventually, the mountains took shape and then the forests.

The pilot spoke up again. “I’ll open the rear hatch once we’re in the clear so you guys can have some fresh air.”

The cabin depressurized and the rear door slowly opened. Bright light filled the inside of the Pelican so quickly everyone squinted and shielded their eyes. Warm wind rushed in. When his eyes adjusted, Frost got up and sat down at the hatch, letting his legs dangle over the edge. He took a long look over the world’s dazzling landscape.

The Pelican was flying over a long, winding river that cut its way down a stony canyon covered in moss. The water was a rich, light blue only broken up by tumbling white rapids at the bends. Lush vegetation lined it on either side and climbed its way out of the canyon. The land the canyon divided was made up of rolling hills covered in short, light green grass. It ran on for miles, leading to expanses of dark green and brown forests. Formations of birds meandered in the clear blue sky and on the flatlands Frost could see packs of mammal-like creatures trundling along. 

“That’s some view, eh?” Steele finally said, using the TEAMCOM frequency so his voice wouldn’t be lost in the wind.

“Better than the last place,” Frost said as the wind whistled in and out of the Pelican. He couldn’t help but smile. The cool wind, the warm sun, running water, the lush dark green grass, and the gray cliffs was enough to make him think of home. It seemed peaceful. 

“Nice change of scenery,” Steele remarked with a brief chuckle. “I like these Outer Colony worlds. Only a few big cities or no cities at all and not a lot of noise. Just green and blue gems floating about. Beats Earth by a longshot.”

“Why don’t you shut your trap,” grumbled Bishop in a rough, gravel tone. “The last thing I want to do is think about home right now.”

“Home? What home?” Steele sneered. “You’re from the shithole Glasgow.” 

“And what’s that supposed to mean coming from you?” Maddox snapped cantankerously. “Look me in the eye and try telling me that the old town in London is any better. Yeah? That’s what I thought.”

The squad issued a series of amused chuckles or annoyed groans. Frost in particular found it humorous, for he saw holo-pictures of both cities and thought they were quite beautiful as far as 26th Century architecture allowed. 

“You lot ought to think a bit more broadly,” Knight cut in with his deep, even voice, “we’re all lucky enough to have someplace to call home still. There isn’t many Outer Colonies worlds left.”

Everyone quieted down. Frost looked over his shoulder at Knight, who smirked at him. He may have said it lightly, but it was a true statement. While their unit was entirely from Earth, they served alongside plenty of Outer and Inner Colonists in their time. Inner Colonists had the luxury of having their homes remain unscathed as well, but Outer Colonists were not so fortunate. Their homeworlds had been ravaged since the very start of the war. The majority of them spun tales of woe that were difficult even for line Marines to hear. Many were off-world, glued to the news only to find out their planet was burned to ash. Others were at their homes during the Covenant invasions; a lucky few made it aboard the first shuttles, others reached the last evacuation transports with Covenant ground troops right behind them. A few of the refugees who had been the last ones to get off world were haunted by images of the alien ships glassing their homeworlds. 

The commander of their unit, Colonel Avraam Hayes, was born on Earth, but was living on the colony world Bliss, which was one of the first planets to be glassed by the Covenant. Most Outer Colonists were now fighting to attain their vengeance. Despite their differences, and the Insurrection, the Earth-born Marines maintained a level of respect for them. At the very least, they tried to. It was easy to forget that a man at the mess table had seen his planet burn while someone chatted merrily about his hometown.

The conversation started again, shifting to lighter topics. Detaching himself from his thoughts and his companions, Frost looked over at their escorts. A pair of UNSC Army Falcons were flanking the Pelican on either side. They pulled back to the transport’s rear to traverse a narrower portion of the canyon. Frost could see the pilots through their windscreens, and he waved at them and the pilot in the closest Falcon returned to the gesture.

Sergeant Teo then walked up beside Frost, holding his assault rifle in one hand and gripping a handle on the left side of the cabin. His expression was stern and stoic, as if analyzing something no one else could see.

“They don’t understand a thing, do they?” he said.

Frost quirked an eyebrow and looked up at him.

“Kind of cryptic, T.”

His squad leader did not bother to look down. 

“This place is exposed. This planet, I mean. We’re not too far from the fighting. Brass thinks we’re safe here.”

“It could be safer here than anywhere else,” Frost offered with a shrug, “at least in Outer Colony space.”

Teo looked down at him. He had a blue HUD piece over one of his dark eyes, but the other was exposed. It pierced Frost like a bullet. 

“Nowhere is safe anymore, Frost,” he said, finally breaking their gaze.

The sergeant shook his head. “Those Falcons shouldn’t be covering us, they should be out scouting. This planet, Ambition, is a big place with a lot of uncharted ground we don’t have eyes or boots on. There could already be Covenant forward operating bases or martialing areas on this rock, right under our nose.”

“Well, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Beef up the defenses. I heard they’re gonna install MAC’s here,” Grant said hopefully. Grant was leaning forward in his seat, looking at Frost and Teo. 

Frost glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Grant. He was the youngest in the squad and was earnest and thoughtful. He was of the fourth generation of a Kenyan family that immigrated from their home in Old Mombasa nearly a century ago to the United States. Like the others, he was in the strange limbo of not quite being a draftee but also not qualifying as a genuine volunteer. Over the years, other members of the squad became more bitter than their youthful days in the Youth Program, but Grant’s optimism was not cowed by the war.

Flashing an enthusiastic grin, he pointed out of the Pelican. “I heard someone say this’ll be turned into another Reach! This place will turn into a real fortress. Guy said from this place we could launch all sorts of badass operations against the Covvies. We’re gonna take the fight back to them.”

“If the Covenant don’t get here before we finish,” Teo scolded. “Reach was colonized towards the mid 24th Century; they’ve had plenty of time to turn it into the powerhouse that it is. I doubt this place will even come close to that before the Covenant comes knocking.”

“It’s probably meant to be a morale booster,” Moser suggested with a shrug, “either way, it’s better than nothing. We’re not here to interpret the orders, just to follow them.”

After chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, Teo nodded. Turning around, he faced the rest of the squad.

“That’s right. Our priority is to get to the base, make an evaluation for the colonel, and get their long range sensors and motion trackers operational.”

“Poor sod, he’d love to be down here overseeing the job himself,” Knight said.

“The deployment on that ship was a mess. Those hanger crews were a joke,” Bishop agreed. They dropped from the UNSC _Burnside_ , which was manned by a mostly inexperienced crew. It was expected this far into the war; for every volunteer there was a conscript hoping to prolong their service. Perhaps a civilian could understand but the sympathy of Marines like Frost extended only so far. Still, any of the experienced troopers knew it was difficult for a drafted serviceman to be enthusiastic or even well-trained, considering how fast recruits were being processed. While the navy personnel of the _Burnside’s_ Pelican bays struggled, Hayes and the rest of the 89th Marine Expeditionary Force were stuck. 

The Pelican rounded a bend of the jagged canyon, flanked by their Falcon escorts. It dove under natural rock arches and rose over waterfalls. Eventually, it came to a terraformed valley in the shape of a hexagon, surrounded on all sides by ridges of gray rock. Nestled in the rough edged hexagonal sand-covered valley was their destination. Frost whistled, impressed by what he saw. Alpha Base was nearly completed, although it was to be the first of many bases. The surrounding ridges had a near-vertical incline jutting out from the base, acting as a natural barrier around the complex, but steel defensive walls lined the perimeter, almost as a buffer. The walls were brimming with watch towers and turrets. 

“Not bad for a few weeks,” Moser said, having come up behind Frost and leaned out to get a look. 

“I’ll circle around so you can have a good look at Alpha Base,” the pilot chimed over the comms.

There was a rectangular HQ building several stories high near the northwestern edge of the base. Multiple radio antennas and radar dishes covered the top of the armored structure. To its left, running parallel with the western wall of the base, sat a large airfield. The runway was clear, with hangars and launchpads for Broadswords to the left of it, VTOL helipads for Falcons and Hornets on the right, and a spacious lot at the base of the runway for Pelicans. The Pelican landing zone was in front of some warehouses and barracks type buildings, and there was a control tower beside the runway near the VTOL pads. About a hundred yards to the right of the VTOL helipads were three large platforms. Automated cranes lifted crates from huge assortments of various supply crates left on the pads. Forklifts continued to offload more crates from an Albatross dropship. Another Albatross was descending from one of the support frigates, laden with more equipment. The cranes would drop the crates into the back of a flatbed Warthog which would drive off to another section of the base to unload in the supply depot. 

On the eastern side of the base, there were five large barracks lined up horizontally in a row against the steel walls lining the perimeter. In a vertical row to the barracks’ left was an armory, a mess hall, and a hospital that was still under construction. Past these structures was a moderately sized training area; there was a track area for PT, a shooting range, and several obstacle courses. 

As the Pelican circled in to land, Frost noticed that save for a single platoon split up between a PT run and push-ups, it was surprisingly vacant.

The southeastern part of the base was occupied by a motor pool. There were multiple garages and repair sheds, plus an outdoor lot for other vehicles. Around the lot were scores of spare tires, tables of tools, stacked cans of fuel, and unopened crates containing spare parts. The major supply depot was also located there. It consisted of four large warehouses, plus a large amount of crates stacked in sections near the fuel caches at the motor pool.

Once more, Frost was surprised by how empty this section of the base was too. Save for a half dozen Warthogs and some grease monkeys working on a Scorpion tank, the rest of the vehicles were gone and so was the majority of personnel. Most motor pools, when not on a combat alert, were choked up by the sheer amount of vehicles. 

The main gate was at the northern part of the base. It was relatively standard. Many of the facilities on Reach had fortified checkpoints and titanium-A gates built in a slanted style. The doors were extremely large and slid open or closed at an angle. The design allowed for the closed gates to deflect projectiles and absorb plasma, and being built into natural rock formations allowed for the terrain to add to the defense. However, the gate for Ambition’s Alpha Base was a more traditional double gate made of steel that swung outwards. An armored platform with gatling guns lined the top, and the platform connected to the defensive walls and towers that lined the base. 

“Not exactly sturdy at the front,” Frost criticized, observing the main gate with disapproval. 

“Look past it though,” Moser pointed out of the Pelican, “the gate leads into a gorge with high walls on either side. A frontal assault would be funneled through there, and that would make easy targets for artillery and anti-material weapons. Look, they have fields of crossfires for their machine guns.”

“Park a Scorpion in the gate, I doubt anything could get through,” Grant agreed. 

“Yeah, but what you have all neglected to acknowledge is that the base is vulnerable to air-attack,” Teo looked at the combat engineer, “wouldn’t you agree, Maddox?”

“One hundred percent. Not a lot of AA turrets around. Plenty of antitank and antipersonnel defenses; but an assault made by Banshees to soften us up, followed by a wave of dropships? Our base would be burning from the inside out in minutes.”

“We’ll let the Colonel know and he can get on the Army CO’s ass about it,” Teo said.

The Pelican banked and began changing course for the final descent for landing. During the turn, Frost glanced past the airfield’s leftmost hangars. His eyes widened, and he had to double-take. 

“Are those missile silos I’m looking at?” he said, pointing. The others gazed ahead and Bishop whistled. 

“That’s a HAVOK.”

The pair of silos were next to each other, spaced by a hundred yards or so. A large bunker-type control building sat at the edge of each silo. One of the silos was closed, though the other was wide open, and steam drifted out of the shaft. A sleek, black missile protruded from its berth, and at the top was a large orange tip: the warhead. 

“Two HAVOK nukes? And that close to the other buildings? Looks like Command saved us the job of getting vaporized by the Covenant. We’ll just fucking blow ourselves up!” Steele joked as he shook his head.

“That’s some serious power,” Frost affirmed, looking back at the others, “with those we could take out entire Covenant staging areas.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to use them,” Teo growled, “they’ll either save us from annihilation or turn this planet into our gravestone.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to say something positive or uplifting from time to time, T,” Grant sighed over the TEAMCOM. Teo issued a harsh glare, but his gaze softened a moment later and he offered a sly smile. Frost caught it, grinned, and shook his head.

“Not on your life, private,” the squad leader said, his tone faintly snide.

The Pelican touched down and the Marines filed off. Frost gave the side of the Pelican a few hearty thumps with his hand.

“Thanks for the ride!”

“Anytime fellas, I’ll try to get things moving and get the rest of your buddies down here,” chimed the pilot.

The Pelican turned as it took off and the pilot waved from his seat at the controls. Frost saluted and waved back, watching the Pelican as it headed skyward. The Falcons buzzed around overhead, dipping from side to side, before flying out of sight to the west.

Frost slung his rifle over his shoulder and clapped Grant on the back, who offered a wide smile. 

“Nice to have a new base to ourselves, huh?” he remarked. 

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Steele muttered. He took out a pack of cigarettes from the side pocket of his rucksack, tapped one out, and raised to his lips. After putting away the pack, he took out a strike-answer match, slashed it down the breastplate of Grant’s armor, and then lit his smoke. Once the flame took, he took a few puffs, flicked the cigarette away, and tapped Grant’s helmet. The younger private raised his middle finger as the sniper walked over to join the others.

Frost didn’t notice, reveling in the brief opportunity to see the base empt. Too many times had they been sent to occupy crumbling firebases within besieged cities or the ruins of entire military compounds filled with beleaguered defenders. This base was put together well, save for its glaring oversight; it was clean, spacious, and at that very moment, quiet. Seeing the high walls, strong towers, and automated defenses made him feel safe. For a moment, it felt as though all the power of the UNSC was concentrated in this one spot. 

It made him feel invincible. 

“Hello boys,” a loud voice called.

A tall man with tanned skin and jet black hair approached them. He had a trimmed mustache and strong features that seemed uncharacteristic of his long face. Frost and his compatriots saw the insignia on his cap and saluted the senior officer sharply. The lieutenant colonel dismissively saluted back. “At ease.”

“Sergeant Teo reporting, sir!” Teo said, “First Squad, Second Platoon, Charlie Company of the 89th MEU.” 

The lieutenant colonel smiled, amused. He looked Teo up and down, then observed the rest of the squad. 

“You seem to be early.”

“Deployment went sideways sir; the rest of the MEU is bottled up in the _Burnside_. We’re our commander’s eyes and ears right now. We are acting with his authority.”

Sergeant Teo reached into one of his belt pouches and procured a data pad. He tapped the pad a few times and handed it over, displaying a letter from Colonel Hayes that confirmed their detail.

The lieutenant colonel looked puzzled as he read the message, and then with a resigned sigh handed it back. 

“Very well. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Melendez, officer commanding.”

Teo and Melendez began walking away from the group. The former began to question the ranking officer about lack of personnel and anti-air defenses. Frost and the others followed a few feet behind them, and from what he gathered the colonel had sent the majority of the garrison and their equipment out for combat maneuvers in an effort to become familiar with the terrain and develop strategies for when the Covenant attacked. 

Melendez appeared to be quite huffy at the criticism directed at the base. Any veteran would accurately assume that the necessary supplies for the AA turrets would take time to arrive at an Outer Colony planet just like any other material assets. The operation to turn Ambition into a new fortress was a hasty decision, so up until that point, efforts to build it up were somewhat scattershot until a few weeks ago. Simply, the shipment might have not shown up yet. But Frost was sure that Lieutenant Colonel Melendez just didn’t have his priorities straight. He seemed too comfortable here and not just because he sauntered about like he was on the beach. Sending out the bulk of troops for exercises rather than finalize basic defenses was a waste of valuable time. Frost was sure that Melendez wanted to show off to the brass, vy flexing the muscles of his garrison and making the place look pretty. 

That was going to get a lot of people killed if and when the Covenant fleet reared its ugly head, Frost thought.

The commanding officer seemed to become more strict when Teo questioned him about the gate. He puffed his chest and tried to scold the sergeant, saying he didn’t need to be questioned by his underlings. 

“Sir, may I be frank?”

“Why, by all means, go ahead,” Melendez replied heatedly. “Permission to speak freely, granted.”

“I’m not under your command, sir. I’m a Marine, not some Army trooper garrisoning a backwater twiddling his thumbs waiting for the Covenant to show up. I answer to Colonel Hayes, who may I remind you will be taking command of the joint task force and the entire area of operations when he steps off his transport. I’m sure he won’t be happy with the status of the base as well as the current whereabouts of the current garrison, but I know he will be extremely annoyed when I have to add a negative report of the current CO, sir.”

Lieutenant Colonel Melendez growled and raised a finger, trying to find some words to issue another reprimand like a grade school teacher, but could find none. He let his hand fall and then gritted his teeth, his face turning red like a beet. It wasn’t every day that a UNSC officer was essentially threatened by an NCO. Frost was rather taken aback. Teo respected the chain of command more than any other man in the squad and he was sure any other officer would have been chewing him out right then and there. But Melendez decided not to. No doubt, the officer was all show and didn’t have the mettle to back up any of his bravado. A diehard Marine might have pegged that as representative of the UNSC Army as a whole, but Frost attributed it to the degree of officers being flushed down the pipe. For every decent commissioned officer across all the service branches, there was another who was nothing more than an empty uniform. 

Melendez resumed walking towards the HQ with Teo at his side, nearly stomping like a child who hadn’t gotten what he wanted. 

“What an asshole,” Frost remarked quietly, nodding towards Melendez.

“Too right. Look at him, he walks like a bloody peacock,” added Bishop.

“I bet he’s never been face to face with the Covenant like we have,” Grant said. The others mumbled in agreement. 

Eventually, Lieutenant Colonel Melendez and Sergeant Teo halted in front of the HQ. 

“Alright, I’ll draw up a plan to finish up the rest of the necessary construction here for the Colonel. I’ll have it down by the time he’s groundside. In the meantime, you and your squad can relax. Get some chow if you’d like.”

Melendez flashed a shining, smug grin that made Frost bristle. 

“Or just enjoy the sun. It’s a nice day for it.”

With that, Melendez entered the building, leaving the squad of combat veterans standing in the sand. They all grumbled insults under their breath. Letting the officer get away with his snide behavior didn’t sit well with any of them.

Frost approached Teo as the latter returned to the squad. The squad leader shook his head, muttering something in Italian. 

“So what’s the plan, T?” Grant asked, joining the pair.

“Maddox is the only one with a job to do.”

“Course I fucking do because none of you know how to fucking set up a fucking motion tracker by yourselves,” the combat engineer grumbled as he knelt down to go through his kit, retrieving a datapad and toolbox.

“Cool it, you’re going to tire yourself out with your yapping or give yourself a heart attack or something,” Bishop said, nudging Maddox’s back with the tip of his boot. In an instant, Maddox smacked his foot away as if it was a bothersome fly. Bishop just snickered.

“Besides that,” Teo continued, “all we can do is wait for the others to touch down. That jackass is probably writing up a report on me and the rest of you right now to hand over to Hayes instead of the plan.” The squad leader spit. “Fucking asshole.”

“What do you expect? Hayes does things differently than most other officers,” Frost said with a shrug, “they aren’t used to his methods and they’re not used to guys like us.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Hayes won’t even read it,” Knight grunted. 

The squad looked around. The almost vacant base steadily became unsettling, so they decided to head over to the shooting range to pass the time. Silence was attractive to an experienced Marine for only so long. So used to the drumfire of combat, quietness became unnerving. Gunfire, plasma blasts, explosions; they pounded the eardrums every battle. It was painful to hear those noises. Making some noise dealt with that issue on top of just being good fun. Frost and his squad took their jobs seriously but they were still Marines; they liked to shoot. 

“Net call, net call, this is Paragon Six! All units, we have a Covenant presence on Ambition. I repeat, large Covenant threat! The Covenant are on Ambition, over!”

The Marines stopped dead in their tracks. Frost closed his eyes and lowered his head. His teeth gritted together as his gut tightened into a knot. He cursed himself for letting himself get enthralled with the prospect of a few months, or even just a few weeks, of pure peace. Just a little time to forget the war. just to have one small semblance that there was still some beauty left in the galaxy. 

But he couldn’t say that to his friends. Even if they all wore the same tragic expression and felt the same way, he could not share it. Nobody could or would. Perhaps it was just the way they were built or maybe it was because they were Marines; they remembered their senior drill instructor telling them the UNSC Marine lived for war. Battle presented itself yet they did not wish for it. 

They all looked at Sergeant Teo first, who let his head drop backwards.

“I knew it. I _fucking_ knew it,” he muttered. Turning around, he took his rifle from his shoulder in a resolute fashion, planting his feet in the sand and gripping his weapon tightly. “This is gonna get hairy, Marines. Get yourselves ready.”

In one motion, the squad dropped to their knees and began to get their gear in order. They dumped their rucksacks and dropped any unnecessary equipment for the coming firefight. It was a standing rule: if it couldn’t kill an alien, it wasn’t worth bringing. Bandoleers were fastened, grenades passed out, first aid kits taped to shoulder pads and thighs for easy access. Extra magazines were taped to their thighs and calves as well. 

“At least we don’t have to fucking wait for them now,” Steele remarked, adjusting the scope of his SRS99 weapons system.

The others snorted but no one smiled. 

It was then that Colonel Melendez’s voice came over the comms.

“Paragon Six, this Whiskey Six. This better not be a goddamn joke, over!” 

“Whiskey Six, Paragon Six. I’ve got a reinforced brigade of Covenant assaulting my position. They have heavy armor and air support. Our forces are divided; I’ve got the bulk of the infantry, but the mechanized and air units are out on other exercises! We are going to rendezvous in the valley at the base of the mountains, but we are going to need reinforcements soon!”

“Roger Paragon Six. No reinforcements are available at this time, we’re still waiting on dropships from orbit. I’ll see about getting them moving, over.”

At least Melendez wasn’t going to leave his troops hanging in the wind, Frost thought to himself. 

Teo snapped his hand to his helmet’s earpiece.

“Whiskey Six, White One-One. With your permission, we can take some of your Warthogs and give the infantry some support before they’re overrun.”

There was silence over the communication link for a brief moment.

“Roger, White One-One. You’re going to get yourselves killed, Sergeant.”

Before Teo could respond, Frost put a finger to his helmet-mounted comm-link. 

“All part of the job, sir,” Frost piped in. 

Again, there was brief silence.

“White One-One, green light.” 


	3. 2544, Pt. 2

“Floor it, come on!” Teo hollered.

Steele looked over at him, exasperated.

“It  _ is _ floored, T!”

Frost gripped the handles of the M41 heavy machine gun turret so hard he was sure his knuckles were white under his gloves. Steele was driving like a madman, plowing through shallow rivers and thickets of bushes as they followed the path out of base. Teo was in the commander’s seat, standing halfway out of it. One of his hands was clamped firmly in the bar that separated the driver and commander seats, while the other gripped his assault rifle. Frost’s own rifle was slung over his shoulder, but the jarring Warthog ride caused it to slip down so the rifle was drumming against his right leg. He would have fixed it but he didn’t want to let go; he was strapped into the turret but with the way they were driving he was sure it didn’t make a difference. 

Directly behind them in the M68 Gauss Cannon-equipped Warthog, Moser was at the wheel and Grant at the cannon. The rearguard was made up of another M68-toting Warthog, with Maddox at the wheel, Knight in the commander’s seat, and Bishop manning the gauss cannon.

After blazing through the canyon path of gravel, woods, and streams, they began tearing across open countryside. Frost looked around, turning the turret as he did. There were no Covenant or UNSC aircraft in the sky, nor were there any vehicles on the plains. But he could hear the distant battle, even over the sound of the roaring engine. It was getting steadily closer. 

“So what’s the plan, Teo?” Frost asked over the TEAMCOM. 

“We’re going to provide a screen and harass the enemy so the Army infantry has a chance to pull back!” he answered. “This is going to be a target-rich environment, so it’s important we divide our fire and engage as many as we can. We’ll handle infantry, Moser and Grant will engage air targets, and the rear Warthog will engage enemy armor.”

Upon saying this, Teo looked back at Frost and grinned. Frost gave him a thumbs-up. Teo then continued, “Warthog Two, you’ll take on air targets. The cannon can take a Banshee down in a few hits, so just focus fire and take them out one by one. Does everyone copy?”

“Warthog Two, copies.”

“Warthog Three, roger.”

No more words were shared over the TEAMCOM. Although a persistent pang of defeat continued to roil in his gut, Frost suddenly felt relieved. The waiting was over and there was no guessing as to when the Covenant were going to show up. Slowly, he began to feel exhilarated. Blazing across the lush green plains towards the thundering edge of battle, the Warthogs began to line up as if they were going to race. Seeing his squad mates armed to the teeth and piloting machines of war made him tremble with eager excitement. 

It was an odd transition and he was fully aware of it. Each time battle approached, he processed the same emotions before steeling himself for the fight. He was a Marine and it was time to do his job.

The Warthogs began roaring uphill. The thunder of guns was beginning to overpower the sound of the engines.

“They’re over this hill!” Teo cried over the comms, “When we crest the hill, we’re a part of this fight! No turning back, no retreat, and no excuses!”

The Warthogs came to the top and slowed their speed. Frost felt as though he were looking at a grand painting of ancient warfare. The battle had moved to the foot of a steep mountain ridge to their immediate left, in a brown field. Ahead, towards their right, were a series of rock formations. The Army troopers had formed battle lines and hardpoints within these formations. Yellow muzzle flashes appeared behind almost every rock. The field of dirt ahead of them was empty, save for a trail of human bodies they left behind during their retreat. Already, piles of Covenant Grunts littered the flat, with Jackals and even Elites strewn about as well. Despite the amount of fire going down range though, Frost could see that the lines of dead aliens were steadily getting closer to the troopers’ positions. 

The Covenant seemed to be oozing from the high mountains. Hordes of enemies clad in green, blue, yellow, red, and purple armor flowed like rivers down the mountainsides. Heavily armored Wraiths followed in their wake while nimble Ghost led the way. Banshees tore through the air. Their twin plasma cannons streaked blue bolts across the field, accompanied by their lumbering green plasma missiles that erupted furiously on impact with a target. Frost watched as men were cut in half or disintegrated by these air attacks. Entire squads were engulfed and reduced to limbs and gore from the clouds of white-purple plasma fired from the Wraiths’ cannons.

Still standing up in the commander’s seat, Teo pounded his fist on the top of the railing. “Punch it, punch it, punch it, punch it!” Teo hollered over the comms. The Warthogs raced downhill and commenced firing. Frost raked the M41 back and forth in a semicircle, targeting larger groups first of smaller enemies first. Grunts were torn apart by the heavy caliber rounds. Jackals’ shields took too much fire and winked away before they two were cut down. Left without their squads, Elites stood alone and fired definitely with plasma rifles. Training his weapon on them, Frost whittled down their shields until they dissipated then punched through their armor. More alien corpses began to litter the field.

It was chaos as Steele drove them back and forth, fishtailing the Warthog through the Covenant lines. More than once a Grunt or a Jackal was rammed by their Hog. The body would either be crushed under the massive tires or be thrown onto the hood where it would remain for a few moments before a sharp turn made it violently slide off. Purple and blue blood coated the hood and the windshield in a matter of minutes.

During a turn, Frost could briefly see one of the other Warthogs twisting and turning through the throngs of Covenant. In one glance, he watched as Knight pulled the trigger on his rocket launcher. Fire both rockets in rapid succession, they soared just a few feet above the ground before slamming into the rear of a Wraith. Hitting its weakest point, the engine flared, the hull cracked, and then it exploded in a cloud of purple, white, and red plasma and fire. In another glimpse, Frost saw a streak of purple-and white from a gauss cannon shoot upwards. It caught the end of a Banshee’s thin wing. The impact caused it to spiral through the air. Before it could regain control, Grant fired again, catching the underbelly of the Banshee and breaking it into nearly a hundred pieces. 

Frost kept firing in short bursts as much as he could so his arms wouldn’t go numb, but it was getting harder. The arrival of the Warthogs initially scattered the lower ranks of the Covenant force. Waves of Grunts following their Elite commanders broke into a frantic retreat to the point of trampling and scrambling over one another. They must have thought an entire task force arrived. But soon they were rallied and the multi-alien force pressed the attack even harder.

Frost could feel his hands and fingers begin to tingle with pins and needles. Soon, he could barely feel them anymore. The Covenant lines were massing together so as not to get hit by the Warthogs, which made them prime targets for longer turret bursts. There was just no opportunity to keep firing in short bursts.

“Fuck!”

Frost had been aiming the turret to their right flank, but he looked ahead when he heard Steele curse. As soon as he looked, Steele veered the Warthog to the left as a flaming Ghost cartwheeled by them, exploding a few moments later. 

“Sorry!” Bishop called on the comms as their Warthog shot past.

“Get your head outta your ass,” Teo said calmly over the comms. “We can’t lose anyone of these Hogs.” Leaning halfway out of his seat, he fired his assault rifle with one hand. Sometimes when they were passing a larger group of Grunts, he wouldn’t bother to reload and would draw his sidearm, emptying a clip into the group before they pulled away. 

“How much longer can we keep this up?” Knight yelled over the TEAMCOM. “I’m burning through my rockets and there’s already ten more Wraiths coming down the mountain!”

Frost gritted his teeth. His arms were becoming more feeble. He wanted to let up on the triggers just to stop the tremendous shaking of the turret. But there was still plenty of ammo and plenty of Covenant ground troops trying to get into close action with their fellow soldiers.

“As long as we can!” Frost responded. “The big guns will be here soon!”

“Incoming, incoming! Banshees!” Maddox shouted.

Frost looked up to the rear of the Warthog and saw five Banshees in a Vic formation, creating a tight V shape, bearing down on them. Their cannons were already firing, and he could see the fuel rod cannons beginning to flare a terrifying green and white color. 

The M41 wouldn’t be much good against a flying target. They were too agile, even for the most experienced gunner. 

There was a sudden stream of yellow tracer rounds. The lead Banshee exploded, and then the next pair went down in a flurry of smoke and orange-purple flame. The final duo of the formation banked to the sides, but were caught by autocannon rounds and were destroyed. Frost looked back to see several formations of Army Aviation Falcons join the fray. Frost couldn’t help but cheer and raise a fist skyward as the sturdy birds broke their formations after another volley of autocannon fire and began to dance with the Banshees. The Banshees were more maneuverable, but the Falcons could take a good beating from a Banshee’s primary weapon. Its chin-mounted autocannon and side-mounted gatling guns or grenade launchers made quick work of the light armored aircraft.

“White One-One, this is Musket One,” came a voice, “Colonel Menendez radioed in that some crazy jarheads needed a hand, so we came as fast we could, over,” said a female pilot.   


“Musket One, glad to see you got here in time to join the party. We have a Covenant presence much larger than my call sign; combined arms, infantry, armor, air. Target rich environment, over!” Teo responded, pressing a finger to his earpiece. 

“We’ll get those Banshees off your back, White One-One.”

In minutes, Frost felt the Banshee’s assault slacken. Every so often a Falcon would burst into flames and spiral downwards, but the Banshee’s were taking severe casualties. Moser and Grant began to take on the Ghosts that were chasing the Warthogs, which allowed Bishop, Maddox, and Knight to focus their fire on heavier targets.

Frost found his second wind and resumed firing. The Covenant offensive was beginning to slow down. But after another ten minutes of fighting, there were a series of tremendous cannon blasts. When Frost looked at the source, the mechanized portion of the Army task force arrived. Warthogs sped ahead at full speed, with Scorpions rumbling behind them. Their 90mm cannons shook the ground, casting clouds of dust around their heavily armored chassis as they rolled forwards. They targeted Wraiths and began destroying them one by one. 

Empty cartridges poured from the side of the M41 as Frost fired into a crowd of Grunts, who were running in disarray. Tank shells ripped into the mass of aliens, throwing dozens into the air in a shower of blood and limbs. Falcons dipped and strafed the enemy in repeated gun runs. The infantry broke from their cover and joined the counterattack, merrily chasing down Covenant stragglers. The Covenant broke into a full retreat.

“White One-One, this is Nassau Six.” It was Colonel Hayes’ call sign. “What in the hell is going on down there?”

The raspy, Russian-accented voice of the colonel caught Frost by surprise, but Teo ceased firing and responded.

“Nassau Six, White One-One here! We’ve got Covenant ground forces on Ambition, sir. But we’ve stalled their advance and we’re holding, over!”

“I know that, boy. Ship scanners are picking up a large enemy presence approaching your position but we can’t make it out. Do you have eyes on, over?”

“Negative, Nassau Six, negative!”

Frost lost focus on the conversation taking place over the comms and stopped firing. At that moment, the battlefield seemed devoid of Covenant. What was left of their vehicles and troops were fleeing back up the mountains, not even bothering to place a rearguard.

Something unsettled Frost. The Covenant almost never broke off their assaults. In all the battles they managed to win, it was only because they wiped out the Covenant forces. It was rare for them to retire from the field due to heavy casualties. 

“Teo, I think they’ve got something up their sleeve,” Frost said, his voice now audible since the cannon and gunfire was dying down. 

Before Teo could respond, the earth trembled as a terrific impact of metal against rock resounded behind the mountains. Tanks, Warthogs, and troopers all stopped where they were. Steele brought their own gun truck to a stop. Everyone was looking around, but Frost kept his eyes on the mountain the Covenant retreated to from. There was another tremendous impact, followed by three more in rapid succession. The earthshaking jolts grew louder.  
Frost felt a chill run down his spine. It finally clicked. He knew what was about to happen. He looked down from the mountains and saw Steele turn in the driver’s seat. Their eyes met. Steele was white as a sheet. 

Finally coming into view as it crashed over the crest of the mountain ridge, turning cliffs and boulders into powder and dust, was a Scarab. Frost bristled with shock as the mammoth assault platform, mounted on four legs, began smashing its way down the steep, rocky slope right towards the task force. 

“Holy shit!” Steele cired, “What the fuck are we going to do now?”

“Steele, get us out of here!” Teo screamed.

“Net call, net call, Scarab!” someone hollered over the comms, “All units fall back!”

Frost clung to the turret as Steele planted his foot on the gas and jerked the wheel around. The Warthog shot forward and spun to the right. He spun the wheel back, and they began speeding towards the rock formations where the Army troopers originally positioned themselves. The task force disintegrated into a mass of soldiers and vehicles all making a break for the hills behind the rocks.

“Frost,” Teo yelled over his shoulder, “get some fire on that thing!”

“It won’t even put a dent in that armor!” 

“We need to draw its fire!”

Frost let out a tirade of curses as he spun the turret around and clamped his fingers on the triggers. The Scarab was now on the field. Despite being forty meters high and weighing as much as fifty-two Scorpions, it was fast. 

Bolts of blue, super-heated plasma were filling the air from the rear-mounted anti-aircraft gun. One Falcon was hit multiple times, and the tail seemed to melt away, causing the aircraft to nose dive into a cliff. Another Falcon was clipped on the end of its tail, and it spun out of control until it crashed in front of the Scarab. As the behemoth marched forwards, one of its legs came down and crushed it. The resulting explosion didn’t seem to damage it in the slightest

The head turned slowly back and forth, as if it was amused by the puny soldiers fleeing from it. Frost trained his fire there, hoping that would be enough to get its attention. He could see the bullets bouncing off the dark purple armor and disappearing into the white-green mouth of the charging beam-cannon. On either side of the round mouth of the beam-cannon were two slits of the same color, one above the other. To Frost, they were almost like eyes, glaring at him. 

The plasma energy around the head grew more vibrant and chaotic. Frost gritted his teeth. 

“It’s going to fire!” He called.

A moment later, the green-colored beam lanced out. It swept back and forth, back and forth, as if it would never stop. Frost looked away and saw scores of soldiers disappear as the beam was brought over them. Scorpions burst open, the rear-mounted turrets seared right off. Warthogs became rolling balls of fire as the plasma beam detonated their engines, incinerating their crews. Those who survived the destruction of their vehicles were half-charred from fire and plasma. They would stoically stumble away from the wreck before dropping dead seconds later. Others were not so fortunate. Their armor, clothing, skin, and flesh melted away, and they writhed around the field, screaming in agony. But they went silent before long as well. 

Frost turned back to look at the mechanized monster, but as he did he saw the beam coming towards their Warthog. It ripped across the ground, leaving a scorched trench in its wake. 

His eyes widened. His muscles tensed. “Bail!”  
Frost let go of the turret’s handles, unclipped himself from it, and leaped shoulder-first from the back of the Warthog. As he did, he saw Steele, who was just a blur, hurdle himself from the driver’s seat towards Frost. But he couldn’t see Teo. The beam swept in front of the Warthog and its sheer power flipped backwards before Frost hit the ground. The last thing he saw were flames snaking out from the Warthog’s engine and Teo hanging halfway out of his seat, an expression of pure terror plastered upon his face.

The first thing Frost could feel, besides the terrible ache gripping his upper body, was something akin to a fog in his mind. His ears were ringing, yet all the sounds he could hear were nearly muted. Explosions were nothing but vibrations in the ground. 

He felt himself groan, but he couldn’t hear it either. Frost tried to open his eyes, but they felt as heavy as concrete. When he was finally able to open them, they kept forcing themselves back down. In the brief flashes of vision, he could see that he had been thrown a short distance away from the Warthog. But he was close enough to make out that it was overturned, the front wheels were missing, and the entire hulk of the jeep was blackened from an explosion. There was a crumpled form lying underneath it. 

“Teo?” He choked, his voice coming out garbled. His hearing was beginning to return. 

Realizing he was on his back, Frost tried to use his arms to push himself up, but he couldn’t bring himself up more than a few inches. His mind would falter, his eyes would snap shut, and then his arms would fall limp. It felt as though he were fighting against his own body.

Little by little, his senses began to gradually return, his body seemed to go on autopilot. His hands padded himself and he did his best to move his entire frame, checking to see if everything was still there. Two arms, two legs, two feet, two hands, ten fingers, ten toes. He reached down to his groin, and was relieved to find that it too was undamaged.

He finally found the strength to raise his arms in front of him; the sleeves of his digital light green camouflage BDU shirt were tattered and his arms were covered in multiple cuts; a few were especially deep gashes. Blood ran down his skin.

Frost was able to prop himself up on his elbows and took another look at Teo. He wasn’t moving from what he could see.

“Nate!” someone called. 

Frost looked to his right and saw Steele limping towards him. His vision became less blurry, and he could see that Steele was relatively unharmed, although his left leg was bloody and the pant leg was partially shredded at the bottom. “Nate!” Steele yelled again. When he reached Frost he knelt down and grasped his face with his hands. “Nathan? Are you alright? Are you okay?”

Frost tried to speak but all he managed was a croak. 

“Don’t talk mate,” Steele said, “let me look at your arms. Shit, we need to get you to a corpsman. This one on your right is bad. Can you still move it?”

Frost had enough control now to move his arm up, down, and around, although it hurt horribly. Every time he tried to speak however, Frost just coughed or mumbled. He poked Steele’s leg, near the blood stain.

“Some shrapnel grazed me, it looks worse than it is,” Steele said, reaching into his medical kit. He retrieved some bandages and wrapped them around Frost’s forearms.

“Can’t believe I lost the biofoam. Fuck. Okay, that should do it,” Steele said, “we got lucky. Fuck, we got lucky.”

“Teo!” Frost croaked hoarsely, regaining his voice.

Steele looked over at the Warthog, then helped Frost to his feet, throwing one of his arms over his shoulders, and began moving them toward the Warthog.

Frost’s faculties were returning to him. He could hear completely now and his mind didn’t feel as if it were filled with mist, although his entire frame throbbed with pain considerably. The cuts on his forearms stung terribly.

He remembered the Scarab then. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the Scarab had stopped where it was when it had fired the beam. It turned around, charging up its main weapon again to fire on some Scorpions that positioned themselves on a nearby cliff; it was near the crest of the hill where their own squad first arrived. The cliff was slightly higher than the Scarab’s midsection and the Scorpions were training their guns downwards onto the anti-aircraft gun. Frost looked around and saw that the remnants of the task force were still retreating over the adjacent slope.

There was nothing he could do, so Frost turned his attention back to Teo. They were almost standing over him. His lower body was under the Warthog, and his entire chest was bloody. A large piece of shrapnel from the Warthog’s hood was embedded in his middle. Frost’s felt his lip quiver and his eyes begin to water. It wasn’t because of the actual wound. Teo’s face was amazingly serene. His eyes were closed and his features were calm. It was almost as if he was asleep. 

Frost lowered himself down on his own volition. Steele, also crouching, took Teo’s head in his hands and held him in his lap.

“Teo?”

The sergeant opened his eyes slowly. He smiled. 

“Boys,” he whispered quietly, before coughing. 

“We’re going to get you out of here,” Frost said, putting a hand on his upper chest, where the wound did not reach. Teo shook his head and placed his hand on top of Frost’s.

“No, you’re not,” he said with a smile.

“Send my things back to my family in Turin. They’re in my kit, back at the base. Tell them I...just tell them.” 

“Sure, boss, we will,” Steele murmured. 

Teo squeezed Frost’s hand. 

“You’re the squad leader now. Get them through it. Promise, Nate?”

“I promise.”

“Good,” he coughed, then said, “no excuses.”

Teo finished with a nod. All the while, he was smiling. He hadn’t stopped since he had opened his eyes. 

Frost kept staring at him, never having taken his hand away. He wasn’t sure how long he stared, and he wasn’t sure when Teo died. It wasn’t until Steele placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently that he realized it.

“He’s gone, Nate.”

Frost looked over at him, and then back down. Teo’s eyes were vacant, the color gone. His features, his entire body, were entirely still like a statue. 

Steele withdrew a bit and lowered Teo’s head gently down onto the ground. Frost slowly brought his hand back from under Teo’s. They sat there on their knees for a time, just looking down at their squad leader. Frost reached down and took his identification tags from Teo’s neck. He placed one of the tags on his chest and tucked the other tag, still on the chain, into his shirt pocket. 

“Teo? Teo this is Grant.”

Frost put a finger to his ear piece and his squad mate came over the comms.

“We made it back up on the hill with the last Scorpions. Moser’s with me, and so are the others. Their Warthog got totaled but they’re all okay, just some scratches and bruises. What’s your location?”

“Grant, it’s Frost. Steele and I are alright.”

A moment passed.

“What about T?”

Frost hadn’t taken his eyes off of Teo.

“He, he didn’t make it, Grant.”

There was silence over the comms. 

“Are you sure?” Grant’s voice was quiet, quick, and disbelieving. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Goddammit. Goddammit...” Grant said through clenched teeth.

Frost let his hand drop. He sniffed, holding back tears. He could hear the anger in Grant’s voice. And he could feel it brewing inside his own gut as well. His eyes turned to the Scarab, which reeled back from the impact of a tungsten shell to the head. But it still unleashed its swirling beam, which destroyed the Scorpions in a flurry of plasma and fire. 

“We’re going to take that thing out,” Frost said as the Scarab finished its blast and started charging the beam-cannon again.

“How? With what? We don’t have anything that can put a dent in that bloody thing!”

Frost ignored him. 

“Grant? Are you still with me? Talk to me!”

“Yeah, we’re here, we’re all here! Look, where are you?”

“Steele and I are on the field. Get everyone in the Warthog and pick us up.”

“Right, and we’ll head back to Alpha from there.”

“Not exactly.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“We’re taking that Scarab down. Get your asses down here.” 

Grant tried to find some words but finally gave in. Frost looked around and spotted his assault rifle. He ran over and scooped it up, then hastily returned to the cover of the Warthog. The Scarab was turning around now to continue chasing the task force, but it wasn’t moving yet. 

Steele came over to Frost, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“What kind of shit are you about to drag us into? You got some kind of death wish? How are we supposed to take down a Scarab when we’ve got no support. The only thing that could work is a MAC. Why don’t we just get out of here and let the fleet blow this thing apart?”

“Because they’re not in position yet. You saw what was happening when we got onto that Pelican? No one was prepared, nothing was ready, the entire operation was FUBAR. They’re not going to get over here before that Scarab marches over the hill and wipes out what’s left,” Frost said. He looked down at Teo’s body for a moment, then looked at Steele. “We have to take it out ourselves. Or at least stall it until a frigate comes over here and hits it with a MAC round.” 

Steele leaned against the Warthog, groaning with fatigue. He looked at Frost, longing for him to change his mind. But Frost wouldn’t be deterred. He glared up at the Scarab, fury boiling in his gray eyes.

“Is this a good plan?”

“No,” Frost admitted with no hint of humor in his voice.

“Can’t wait to hear it, then.” 

They watched as Grant drove the Warthog back down the hill, with Moser, Bishop, Maddox, and Knight all in the bed of the Warthog. The turret was gone, blown off by a bolt of plasma. 

Grant sped over, then grinded to a halt by Frost and Steele. 

“Get in!” He called. 

Frost stepped up into the commander’s seat of the Warthog, but he paused before sitting down completely. He turned to Grant.

“I’ll drive.”

“You sure?”

Frost nodded and the two stepped over the center bar and slid into their seats. 

“So, what’re we doing?” Knight asked.

“The cliff you were just on, we can drive the Warthog onto the Scarab from there,” Frost said, point at their destination. “It’ll be a jump but we can make it. From there, we’ll go in and destroy the core just like in the simulations. 

“You sure we can make that jump?” Grant asked. “We’re  _ really  _ gonna land on that thing?”

“Or at least crash into it,” Bishop muttered.

“If we hit the midsection, we’ll be able to avoid the troop bay,” Frost assured them.

“And for our dismount?” Maddox grumbled. Frost blinked and looked away.

“I haven’t gotten that far, yet.”

“This is going to get us all killed,” Moser said after a brief silence from the others. Before Frost could reply, Steele bumped his shoulder with his fist.

“Folks have done much crazier things in this war. This is brilliant by comparison, so quit your bellyaching and let’s just get this over with.”

Grunting, groaning, swearing, the Marines all looked at one another. Frost waited patiently.

“Why the hell not?” Grant added, exasperatedly. 

With that, Frost nodded and the men lowered themselves down in the bed of the truck. Turning the wheel, he spun the Warthog around and began driving back up the slope. Turning, he traversed the edge of the cliff before veering off about a hundred yards away from it, and turned to face the edge. Frost took one last moment to look at the target. Past the burning hulks of Scorpions, all he could see was the anti-aircraft gun spinning around, searching for targets. 

He took a long breath, and then slammed his foot on the gas pedal. He darted the Warthog in between the wreckage of the tanks, and the Scarab came into full view. The gap between the cliff and the hulking assault platform was bigger than he thought. 

There was no turning back. The Warthog barreled towards the edge of the cliff. The squad braced themselves. Frost felt the Warthog lurch, and a moment later they were in the air. It was a strange sensation; the engine kept roaring, the wheels were spinning, and he felt all the weight in the steering wheel melt away. The Warthog flew only for a second before the nose lowered and started to dive towards the Scarab. Frost held on for dear life. He was so focused on the Scarab getting closer and closer that he couldn’t make out a single word of the squad’s shouting. The Scarab took a large step forward, and Frost realized they wouldn’t be landing dead center. The Warthog was heading straight for the base of the anti-aircraft gun. As they closed in for a crash, Frost could see a Grunt standing in awe, its eyes wide as saucers. 

The Warthog smashed into the base of the large turret. Frost felt the air rush of his chest as he was slammed against the wheel. Grant’s head hit the dashboard but his helmet absorbed the impact. The others piled forward on one another, spilling into the front seats.

The Warthog’s rear settled, and Frost looked over the side. It was perched precariously on the walkway that went around the base. The tail end of their jeep was hanging over the side. He realized it was swaying backwards. 

“Everyone out!” He ordered.

In a flurry of shouting, swearing, and flailing limbs the Marines scrambled out of the Warthog. Frost and a few of the others were able to clamber out, while Bishop had to take a large leap from where he had been standing in bed of the Warthog. Maddox slid his way down the hood, and Steele ungracefully flopped out from the driver’s side at Frost’s feet. He was the last one out. The Warthog finally wrenched itself free, the weight of the rear pulling it backwards. A dent was left in the base of the turret, marked with a splatter of blue blood from Grunt that had been standing there before. As metal grated and ground, the Warthog slipped over the side, bouncing off the Scarab’s hind leg before falling to its final resting place on the ground below.

“We actually made it,” Steele breathed. Frost offered a hand and helped him to his feet. The two smiled

“That was a stylish exit,” Frost remarked with a grin. It faded quickly, a stern expression gripping his features. “Okay you guys,” he said, “I give us less than a minute before they realize what just happened. Bishop, Maddox, Moser, Grant, Knight, take positions around the door that leads into the troop compartment. Keep any enemies suppressed with sustained rifle fire, frags, and that shotgun,” Frost punctuated his statement by pointing to the M90 shotgun Bishop was clutching in his hands.

“Right,” said the bulky Scotsman, loading a shell into the weapon. 

“Steele, you and I will go to the core. I’ll take point.”

The lance corporal raised his sidearm and nodded. 

Frost led the squad down the slanted walkway that extended out from the base of the large anti-aircraft turret. Despite the sleek aesthetic to the purple armor, it was rigid enough that the Marines easily filed down the incline. The slope also incorporated a large, slanted opening into the internal part of the Scarab. Frost put each man into a position around it, with two men standing in front of the slope, one on either side, and the fifth, Bishop, standing above with the shotgun.

Almost immediately a team of Grunts appeared, but were cut down in seconds by the team. Nearly ten were cut to shreds by SMG and assault rifle rounds. When the survivors withdrew out of sight, Maddox lobbed a frag grenade. The squad took cover and a yellow flash briefly lit up the dark interior of the Scarab, briefly revealing bits of shrapnel ricocheting off the walls. Shrill, alien voices cried out inside.

“Keep them pinned!” Frost yelled as he and Steele got onto the midsection. They took the left walkway, advancing slowly, remaining tight against the wall. Frost was hunched forward, keeping his assault rifle raised. Steele was halfway behind him, with his left hand on Frost's shoulder, and his right kept the M6D pistol trained forwards. 

The Scarab shuddered as it began climbing up the hill, causing the pair to nearly lose their footing. But they managed to hold on and begin moving again. Just azs they approached the corner, an orange-armored Elite rounded the corner, unleashing a deep war cry. Then, the alien activated an energy sword; the two-pronged plasma blade slowly extended until the tips were grazing the floor of the walkway, burning two small holes into the armor plating.

Frost’s MA5B had a full magazine, and he squeezed the trigger. Sixty seven-six-two millimeter rounds pummeled the Elite’s shields as it stampeded towards him. He drained the clip in a matter of seconds. Just before the ammo counter display finally showed double-zeroes, the last rounds finally depleted the Elite’s shields. The white shimmer around the alien warrior rippled away, with small jets of electricity jumping from the shield module. The Elite lost its balance from the shock, and was stunned momentarily. It was all the time they needed: Steele aimed quickly and fired one round, which buried itself in the Elite’s skull. The hulking alien recoiled from the blow and crumpled to the deck, its four mandibles twitching for a few seconds. 

“Loading,” Frost said as he ejected the spent clip and slipped a fresh one into his rifle. 

“I wish it was that easy all the time,” Steele remarked as they moved past the Elite, which had dark purplish blood leaking from the hole in its armored head.

The two rounded the corner and slipped behind a large glowing armor piece that acted as a barrier for the core. The core was a small compartment, with red overhead lights similar to that of a Pelican’s troop compartment. There was a blue-white shield in front of the actual core, which was built into the wall and had a series of large tubes connecting it. These tubes were large and also built into the wall. The exterior panel displayed a bright blue light. 

Frost and Steele exchanged a glance before they opened fire on the shield. It proved to be surprisingly weak. After it dissipated, the exposed core stood before them. Again, they paused. 

Wordlessly, Frost approached the core. With the butt of his rifle, he caved in the light. Although the space was not large, it was big enough for Frost to wedge a grenade into it. Lacing his finger around the pin, he pulled it, and jammed it into the hole.

“Fire in the hole!”

Along with Steele darted back out of the core. They took cover around the corner. 

The grenade exploded as soon as they hunkered down. Not even a second passed before the Scarab groaned and shuddered as its energy depleted. It lurched forward, then slowly lowered itself down and tilted to its left, throwing Frost and Steele off balance. An alarm began to sound, broken up by small detonations from inside the Scarab. 

“I think that did it,” Steele murmured. 

“Time to get off this thing, c’mon!”

Dashing back down the walkway and onto the deck, they met with the others, who were taking fire as small bolts of blue and green plasma flew out of the entrance to the troop compartment.

“They set up a turret at the entrance, and we ran out of grenades keeping them from coming up!” Bishop growled. He was standing over the entrance, watching the plasma fire as it came out. Moser had joined him, and was on his knees trying to look over the edge.

“None of us can get a shot off without getting our faces burned off!” He yelled.

Still equipped with another fragmentation grenade, he tugged it from his chest rig, slid halfway down the slanted walkway, pulled the pin, and lobbed inside. 

“Fire in the hole!”

“Down, down!” 

The grenade went off, and the enemy fire ceased. 

Frost jumped down, snapping his assault rifle up to fire a burst. The bullets planted themselves in corpses. There were piles of Grunts and Jackals, as well as the body of an Elite who was slumped over the disabled plasma turret.

“Come on, follow me!” Frost cried, waving his arm to the others. The squad charged into the troop bay, quickly finishing off the remaining Grunts that were running around in a panic. The troop bay was spacious, filled with smooth, curved crates and weapons cases. The rear was wide open, and with the Scarab now closer to the ground and keeling over to the left, it was an easy jump.

Frost stood at the edge, placing a hand on each Marine as they dropped down. He waited until the last man got out before jumping himself. “Make a break for it!” he called, and the squad took off running back into the field, still littered with alien and human dead, and burning vehicles. The squad came across the wreckage of a Wraith, and took cover behind it.

The earth trembled and the sky turned a shade of purple as the Scarab erupted. Its legs broke apart and the body combusted into several large pieces. Purple, blue, and yellow flames arced and spiraled outward. The blast echoed for miles. Debris and shrapnel shot out in every direction and rained down like a storm. The grassy hillside it had trodden upon was reduced to ash. 

As the sounds and the plasma fog faded, the wreckage piled onto itself, leaving a column of dancing plasma fire.

The squad slowly got up and gazed upon the destroyed Scarab. The mass of multicolored flames were burning vigorously. The wreckage groaned and hissed. Instead of cheering and whooping for joy, the Marines all crouched or sat down. A few broke out their cigarette packets and lighters. 

Frost just shook his head, turned, and looked at Steele. “To think we just destroyed one of the pinnacles of Covenant machinery with a single grenade. The sniper put a cigarette to his lips and lit it. 

“Wasn’t just a grenade. There were some crazy leathernecks behind it, too, with a whole lot of guts.”

“And some crazy, too,” Maddox added, sitting down against the wreckage and retrieving a cigarette. After a few moments, he shook his head. “Wish we had some fucking orbital support. Those swabbies could have stopped this mess. 

“I think that’s why,” Moser said mystically and pointed upwards. 

Overhead, a frigate was burning apart in high orbit, cut into three pieces. A pair of Covenant frigates slid into view, ignoring the wreckage of the frigate. They grew larger and larger, flying as if in slow motion over the land.

While the others continued to stare, Frost reached into his pocket and withdrew Teo’s dog tag. He rubbed his thumb over the small metal plate. Then, his gray eyes returned to the sky. 

Only an hour had passed, the garrison was depleted, the Covenant achieved orbital superiority, and his friend was dead. As it sank in, he felt angry and afraid. With his mind racing and heart pumping, he couldn't figure out how he was going to get his friends, his squad, through this fight. That had been Teo’s job, and he was the best. What did that make him? What the hell was he going to do?

But Frost clenched the dog tag tightly in his fist. Then he closed his eyes, and lowered his head. 

“No excuses,” he said aloud.


	4. Sergeant Frost, Pt. 1

The main gates were wide open. A steady stream of men and material flowed into Alpha Base. Warthogs and Scorpions were covered with plasma burns and deep gouges in their armor plating. Many of the surviving vehicles’ engines were smoking from being pushed so hard. Throngs of Army troopers sat crowded together on Scorpions as if they were life rafts adrift in an ocean. Warthogs that were filled beyond capacity; soldiers were even clinging to the sides. Every single trooper was covered with dirt, dust, and blood. Their faces, blackened by smoke, glistened as sweat trickled down. Every single one was despondent and detached. Their energy was spent and their courage diminished.

A commandeered Warthog sped down the trail beside the line at full speed. It cut off a tank and tore into the base. It pounded through the compound until it reached the HQ and ground to a halt. 

Frost and his squad disembarked from their jeep. All around them, Pelicans and Albatross dropships were landing in the base. Some did not even bother to touch down on the airfield or landing pads. Fellow Marines from the 89th Marine Regiment, armed to the teeth, filed out of each one. Scorpions and Warthogs rolled down the Albatross ramps. Officers and senior enlisted men began directing and organizing units through hand signals and orders over the SQUADCOM. Soon, the disarray of men and vehicles began to take form. Squads gathered and turned into platoons. Platoons lined up and the companies took shape. Darter supply ships zipped from orbit and soon supply crates were being cracked open. Fragmentation grenades, ammunition magazines, extra M52B body armor, first aid kids, and MRE’s were doled out.

Frost and his team watched briefly before they joined their unit. After briefly conferring with Lieutenant Conroy, he turned around and briefed his men. 

“Alright guys, listen up. We know the Covvies are going to be planning an assault. We need to rearm and resupply. Steele, I want you to get a battle rifle.”

“Right!” Steele said, jogging off to a Pelican that had just finished unloading several crates of weapons. 

Frost whirled around and pointed at Moser.

“Find out which one of these Pelicans has Colonel Hayes on board. Bring him to me so I can give a SITREP.”

The German soldier went off without a word, disappearing into the crowd of Marines around them. “Maddox, get to the motor pool,” Frost said, spinning on his heel to face the combat engineer. “See if you can give those mechanics a hand. We need to know what vehicles are battle worthy and which ones we can ignore.”

Maddox went off, cursing up a storm. Frost finally turned the others. “Bishop, Grant. Head to the armory, find the code, and open the weapons lockers. If you can’t get a hold of the code, bust the doors down anyway you can. Rearm the Army troopers and keep track of any excess. We can start planting caches in easy to reach places all around the base. If I know Hayes he’s going to start organizing interior lines.

The pair trotted off, leaving Knight. 

“What about me?” he said.

“Knight, get to the mess hall and get those poor Army bastards some food and water. They’ve taken one hell of a beating but we’re going to need them in this fight.”

“Good idea,” he affirmed, but then he hesitated, “what about Teo?”

Frost looked over his shoulder into the bed of the Warthog. Teo’s body lay wrapped up in a standard-issue olive-drab blanket, bound tightly with a few belts. 

Forcing a wave of sadness down, Frost put a hand on Knight’s shoulder, “I’ll make sure he’s taken care of once I deliver my report to the Colonel.”

Nothing more was said, and the Yorkshireman went about his duty. Frost watched him go and then took a long look around at the mass of personnel around him. The Army troopers situated themselves near the mess hall. Some were sitting, watching in bewilderment as reinforcements filtered down from orbit, while others simply fell asleep where they dropped to the ground. Those who were grievously wounded were carried away by a medic or fellow soldier, slung over their shoulders or being supported as they hobbled along. The ones who remained were all close to one another, a disheveled throng that did not want to move again. Not a single one of them looked like a soldier anymore—they were just another filthy clot of frightened kids. 

Frost didn’t hold it against them. How could anyone imagine fighting the Covenant would be like that? One had to tear their hair out wondering how they could defend against any enemy with super weapons such as the Scarabs. By what means were these people, some of them fresh out of high school, going to fight an enemy that didn’t care if they got killed and whose numbers seemed boundless? What kind of defense could they muster against an alien race possessive of fighting spirit that vastly outweighed their own.

The questions wracked Frost’s brain. He felt as if there were an enormous weight pressing on his shoulders. He turned and braced his hands against the Warthog. His head hung low. It was then he felt incredibly tired. But he also remembered he was scared. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. 

He raised his eyes to look down on Teo’s corpse. Frost gritted his teeth and wanted to blame him for this. Teo was the one who was supposed to be in charge, not him. Why did he have to get himself killed? It seemed almost selfish that he had gotten to die. Now, he didn’t have to deal with the rest of this war. He had no more burdens. He was somewhere better. Where, Frost didn’t know, but anywhere was better than where he was standing.

Frost took a deep breath and shook his head.

“No,” he whispered, “don’t do that. Don’t think like that.”

He gazed at the wrapped up body that used to be his friend and sighed tiredly. “No excuses.” 

No excuses. The Covenant didn’t have fighting spirit. What they had was a blind, zealous rage. What he and the UNSC had was fighting spirit. He nodded at the thought. It was enough to harden his nerves, yet a pit in his stomach remained.

“Corporal Frost?” 

Frost stood straight up and turned around. Colonel Hayes approached him. 

Hayes was a tall, muscular man with a jutting jaw coated by a thick black beard. He had a wide-face, short black hair that was graying on the sides, and two vibrant hazel-green eyes that loomed over a long, narrow nose. A lengthy, vertical scar decorated the right side of his face near his sideburn, while another vertical scar sliced his left eyebrow.

“Colonel, it’s damn good to see you,” Frost said with a relieved smile. He quickly stood at attention and saluted. Instead, Hayes said nothing and briefly embraced Frost. After initial hesitation, Frost awkwardly returned it. The Colonel patted him on the back hard enough to make him wince. It was as if his M52B armor was paper thin under his commanding officer’s heavy hand. 

The pair parted a few seconds later.

“You alright, Nathaniel?” the Colonel asked, his tone possessing a slight Russian accent.

“Yes sir, I’m squared away,” he said, lying partially.

Hayes placed a hand on Frost’s shoulder. He offered a toothy smile. 

“I heard you and your squad took down a Scarab and saved those poor Army bastards. Somebody mentioned a Warthog and a bad parking job were involved.”

Frost couldn’t help but chuckle.

“That’s exactly right. Colonel.”

Hayes unleashed a booming laugh, tilting his head back so that his voice touched the sky.

“That’s one way to do it!” he chortled, then looked back down at Frost with a glint in his eye. “You’ll be getting another medal for that.” 

Frost said nothing, feigning a smile. The look on the Colonel's face grew more serious. He said quietly, “Moser told me about Teo. Were you able to recover his body?”

“He’s right here, sir.” Frost weakled reached out and gripped the side of the vehicle. His legs grew unsteady. It was as if each time Teo’s death was spoken of, something dug into his reservoir of strength and took a little bit more away. But he was able to swallow, clear his throat, let go, and stand back up straight.

Hayes peered into the back of the Warthog. He became rigid and silent. Frost saw his eyes glisten and thought for a moment the Colonel would begin to cry, as if he were a father standing over his dead son. 

He reached in and placed a gentle hand on Teo’s chest, still hidden by the blanket. For a few seconds he held it there, before gingerly patting the spot and turned to face Frost.

“Damn shame. Damn, damn shame,” he murmured, “I’m glad you were able to bring the fight back to the Covenant. You made them pay.”

“They’re not done paying yet,” Front answered coldly. 

Hayes nodded in approval.

“That’s the kind of aggression I want to hear. Now, Moser told me you had a report for me.”

Frost went ahead and explained in detail their action at the foot of the mountains. He then told of the assignments he had given his squad and gave his opinion on the defense. Hayes listened intently. After that, he brought up the lack of anti-air defenses.

If there was one thing Frost was grateful for, it was being under Hayes’ command. Hayes was a hard but fair man, even-handed in nearly all of his actions. He treated the men like they were family and often fought on the battle lines with them. Although it was not uncommon among many UNSC officers this far into the war but it was still gratifying to see him returning fire just like the rest of them. What was more, Hayes gave just as much attention to his non-commissioned officer as he did his lieutenants on upwards. Frost remembered before they shipped out from Earth seven years ago, Hayes said, ‘I have briefed my officers, but I want all you NCOs to know that you hold just as much weight as them on the battlefield. You are all supreme commanders of yourselves and your squads.’

“If we don’t have any anti-air means here, it won’t be long before the Covenant realize they can drop right into base. But, I also believe if we don’t have orbital control, it’ll take one shot from a plasma beam to glass the base,” Frost said, punctuating his report. 

The senior officer was smiling softly the entire time. It was as if he was in no way unnerved by the tactical situation the 89th Regiment now found itself in. After staring at Frost for a few moments, he chuckled and shook his head. 

“I ought to give you a battlefield commission.”

“Not a job I’d like, Colonel,” Frost answered stiffly.

“Then you ought to tally your points because you’ll be working your way up the chain, anyways,” Hayes snorted. He then placed his hands on his hips and looked around as the Marines began to fortify the defensive walls, set up extra weapon emplacements, and sandbag redoubts at key points around the base. “The best I can do are the Wolverines that are touching down, they’ll keep out any enemy air assaults. As far as our Navy brothers and sisters, they seem keen to leave.”

Frost understood. Maybe it would be better to rig the base, hop on the Pelicans back to the ship, and jump from the system. But that wouldn’t happen. HIGHCOM wanted a victory. Humanity needed one. A morale boost. That was what Ambition was all about. The veteran Marine found it almost ironic. 

“A carrier, destroyer escorts, and supporting frigates should be able to carry a fight against Covenant frigates,” he offered.

His superior shrugged.

“Unless they send some reinforcements, which they will if we give them too hard a fight. If we can wipe out whatever forces they have here, they might not bother with us. But I’ve already been on the horn and we should have some reinforcements soon. A cruiser is on its way here to enhance the combat capabilities of the ships already present in the system.”

Frost did not like those odds. With the way the Covenant fought, the battle could be over within an hour. He pursed his lips and swore under his breath. When he looked back up, he saw Hayes looking down at him. “Well, depending on how things are when they get here, they’ll either deliver a knockout blow or they’ll be pulling our asses off the line. Until then, we’re going to defend Alpha Base. I’m going assuming operational authority from herein and if that Army CO doesn’t like it, he can talk to HIGHCOM.”

As they spoke, Frost could see Knight going from soldier to soldier, refilling their canteens with fresh, cool water and a bundle of rations. Some of the troopers were helping him pass out the supplies. A minority absently took the items, their eyes focused on some far off place no one else could see. Others, as they clasped the items, seemed to come back to life. A smile there, a joke there. Packages were torn open, tin cans were tapped, and contented sighs rose as Army troopers drank the fresh water and poured some over their heads. It didn’t take too much for a warrior to back onto their feet, Frost thought to himself with a smile.

“As for your squad,” Hayes said sharply, jabbing his finger against Frost’s chest rig to snap him back to attention, “you’re squad leader from now on. You’re promoted to the rank of sergeant.”

Frost was stunned and his mouth fell open. 

“What? I mean, sir, I’m not sure-”

“It’s not open for debate,” Hayes growled, “you’re the one for the job. You have the time in and the points. 

“But Colonel—”

“It’s an order.” Hayes turned around on his heel and began walking towards Alpha Base HQ. When he was a short distance away, he stopped, and turned around. “You’re _Sergeant_ Frost now, whether you like it or not!”

As the Colonel finally walked out of sight, Frost let his shoulders sink. Hayes had gotten his way. Frost loved the man, but hated him for times like this. Hayes was very much aware Frost did not desire a leadership position beyond his current level as a fireteam leader. 

He took a look around, making sure no one was looking away. No one was. The Army troopers were rising to their feet, renewed energy apparent in their features. Some were even heading to the armory to rearm. The Marines were still touching down, still organizing themselves, still filtering to the defensive positions; they were an endless olive drab flow. None of his companions were nearby, still attending to their duties, save for Moser who had taken to helping Knight distribute water and rations.

Taking the moment, Frost walked to the other side of the Warthog where no one would see him, as other vehicles had been parked nearby, sheltering him for view. He sank to his knees, taking in a few sharp breaths. His shoulders were shaking. He didn’t want to take command. He didn’t want any of his friends to die because of him. There was no certainty that he could get them through alive. He struggled to take control of his emotions, cursing the events that unfolded that day. It was one emotional rollercoaster after the other. Down and up, up and down. Just as he got his resolve back, Hayes showed up and destroyed it with a promotion. His hands balled into fists, and one struck the ground as if possessed. If there was one thing he hated, it was not having control of himself.

“Come on, act like a fucking Marine,” he growled, hugging himself to stop his shaking.

Again, he felt the urge to cry. Teo, their unifying force, the singular entity that kept them alive for seven years was gone. Now it was up to him to be that force. Frost quickly looked over his shoulder and gasped out a short sob, but stopped himself. He was a Marine, a warrior, he told himself. Hastily, he swiped at the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He was a Marine, he had a job to do. ‘I’m a Marine,’ he kept repeating in his mind. He could grieve and wallow in whatever emotions gripped him later when his and his men’s lives weren’t on the line.

“Frost?” said a gentle voice.

The newly promoted Sergeant looked up to find Knight standing in front of him. 

“What?” Frost was surprised at how calm his own voice had become, how relaxed his body felt.

The elder Marine knelt down and held a canteen in front of him. He also brandished an energy bar from a pack of rations.

“I’m not hungry,” Frost answered.

“Eat,” Knight said in a nearly soothing tone almost unbecoming for a Marine, “what would your mother think if she found out you weren’t eating proper?”

Frost couldn’t help but grin.

“You are my mother.” 

He took the energy bar. One small bite revealed to himself how hungry he really was, and scarfed the snack down in three large bites. He took the canteen and guzzled half of it down.

“See?” Knight said, bumping a fist softly against Frost’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah, got some more?”

After a five minute meal break, if a meal of several energy bars, juice in plastic bags, bread, pork and beans, and a chocolate bar could be considered a square meal, Frost reunited his squad. Standing in a pile of wrappers and wax paper, the squad formed a semicircle around Frost. “Well, guys,” he started, paranoid that his voice might crack, “I talked with Hayes and he’s organizing the defense. He also made me squad leader,” Frost said, his voice quiet. The others looked at each other, then looked at him.

“You read that in the newspaper or something?” Maddox quipped.

“Saw that coming from a mile away,” Grant added.

“Really?” Frost said, disbelief in his voice, “well, alright. Look, I just want to say that I’m not going to be Teo, okay? I’m not him and I’m sure as hell not going to try and fill his boots.”

“Don’t worry brother,” Steele said with a wink, “we’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Yeah, do and die, and all that assorted horseshit,” Maddox added. Bishop knocked his shoulder against his. 

“It’s do _or_ die.”

Maddox turned sharply, glaring and pursing his lips.

“‘Or,’ implies we have some manner of agency in the matter, mate. If we keep on crashing Warthogs into Scarabs, we won’t have much of a chance of ‘or,’ know what I mean?” he huffed, then turned to Frost. “I’m fine with that.”

The others nodded in agreement. Smiles were flashed, congratulations given, and loyalties were solidified in a series of hugs, tight handshakes, and a final act where the Marines all closed in and placed their hands on Frost’s helmeted head, giving him a good rattling. 

Frost felt his heart swell. Yes, mourning and self-pity would have to wait. They had a job to do; he had to keep them alive, because they were going to keep him alive. 

***

By the time battle plans were drawn, discarded, and redrawn, defenses were shored up, and every soldier was in position, an hour had passed. Frost found himself in the gatehouse that was built on the platform above the main gate. Titanium walls provided some comfort, although the large open front to allow two general purpose machine guns to poke their barrels out created a large gap, so a sandbag wall was erected on the edge of the platform. Bishop and Grant were on the gatling guns. Other heavy machine guns accompanied by gauss cannons straddled the entire perimeter wall, which had been reinforced with sandbags and titanium plates welded on by the Marine engineers, who performed a job that usually took half a day into a single hour. Mobile, self-propelled artillery platforms, Kodiaks, were entrenched further back in the base. Falcons and Hornets waited on the helipad, their engines flaring. Scorpions were positioned so they could bring their large guns to bear on the cliffs and rocky hills overlooking the base. Someone had the clairvoyance to heed the unheard suggestion of Frost and his team; a Scorpion was parked one right behind the gate. Concrete redoubts, also constructed in record time by the engineers, sat at multiple points along the base. Each building was turned into a fortress and any material that couldn’t fall into Covenant hands was wired to blow at a moment’s notice. Some of the mechanized troops formed circles with Warthogs, like laagers or wagon circles. 

Frost, looking out of the rear of the gatehouse, looked at the Warthog laagers. Yes, he thought to himself, they were really circling up the wagons now. 

He knew it was going to be a hard fight. Sieges always were. Artillery barrages, hand to hand combat, last stands; he hoped it wouldn’t come to that last part. The tension that the quiet before a battle brought was tearing him up on the inside. It was as if his organs were clawing at one another, moving and shuffling and bashing and slithering all around in his gut. There was nothing he could do to make it stop. It was driving him mad. He saw some Marines so uneasy as they waited for the fighting to commence they flung their fists into their guts to focus on the pain rather than the ambiguous feeling within. Everyone had different ways of coping with the stress battle brought, before, during, and after.

“Okay, we’ve got three crates of frags and six bundles of rockets for the launcher. Knight will that be enough?” 

Frost turned; Knight was looking over the equipment they had brought up with them.

“For now, but mate I gotta tell ya, I think we’ll be needing more than that if they press the attack.”

Moser turned to Frost.

“Seems old school,” the German marine began, “but I think we’ll need a trail of men from the armory and ammo dumps to here.”

“I agree,” Frost grunted, “I’ll radio Hayes.”

He pressed a finger to his ear and relayed the suggestion. Hayes approved, decided and created a human conveyor belt from quartermasters, cooks, clerks, and the like. 

“You all set?” Hayes asked on a private channel.

Damn right, Frost thought to himself. 

“We’re green, Colonel.”

“Good. Be ready for a dirty fight. I’m gonna need the Ripper on these walls.”

“Solid copy, out.”

Frost briefly journeyed out of the gatehouse bunker, scaled a ladder on the right side, and got onto the roof. Steele was entrenched behind a small wall of sandbags. By no means the best defense, it was enough to absorb plasma fire from below his position. Beside him was a speedball, a satchel stuffed with ammunition. Magazines were already spilling out of it, consisting mainly of BR55 and SRS99C-S2 ammunition. The battle rifle was leaning against the sandbags while the sniper rifle’s bipod was deployed. Its stock rested on the titanium rooftop. Steele was laying beside it, blowing into the chamber of his M6C. When he was satisfied it was clear, he slid a fresh magazine into it, pulled the slide back, and slid the sidearm into his holster. Then, he took the cigarette from his lips, exhaled a large, gray cloud, then resumed smoking. 

Taking the battle rifle in hand, Frost peered through the scope. From this position, the two Marines could see the entire length of the narrow canyon path leading to Alpha Base. At the very end, there was a bend to the left, obscuring the rest of the sandy road. Along the route, teams of Army and Marine combat engineers were busily rigging the road with explosive charges. All the teams were diagonally spaced along the road, planting the charges in clusters rather than in a grid or line pattern. Upon detonation, the Covenant vehicles that would undoubtedly come down the trail would form a roadblock. It would prevent other heavy vehicles from traversing the road and would funnel the infantry into kill zones. 

Looking left and right, Frost could see machine gun teams setting up along the ramparts. Fortifying their positions with barricades and sandbags, they pointed their general purpose machine guns down at the road. Large box magazines and ammunition belts were placed nearby for easy access. Even if the infantry began streaming over the grassy slopes and hills on either side of the canyon, they would be caught in enfilading fire. It was a solid defense for the time being.

Frost lowered the rifle. “Range?” 

“Three-hundred fifty meters. It’ll be one hell of a shooting gallery for us and a gauntlet for them.” 

“The terrain will slow them down for a while, but they’ll adapt and try to get out of the kill zone.” Frost raised the rifle again, turned, and looked at the rest of the base’s surroundings. “If they get sharpshooters on those ridges we’ll be in the gallery instead of them.” He set the battle rifle back down against the sandbags and smacked Steele on his shoulder pauldron. “Hey, if they get up there, I don’t want any counter sniping. Get your ass back down here for cover then see what you can do about them.”

“This ain’t my first firefight, bruv.”

“I mean it.”

“Fine, fine,” Steele sighed, shaking his head. He slid his hand around the grip of his sniper rifle, raised the scope, and peered through it. “Nag, nag, nag. If I wanted to be nagged to death I find myself a fuckin’ wife.”

Unwilling to make any kind of response, Frost looked up at the sky. He was still worried about air-attacks. Alpha Base was, indeed, a specious location. But now a combined Army-Marine force of over four thousand men and women occupied it. As well, it was stuffed with vehicles, equipment, and tight defensive siege lines. While it was the right defense for the waves of Covenant infantry that would eventually try to take the base by storm, it was no ideal against aircraft. Ten Wolverines were parked in strategic locations all over the base but it did not seem like enough. The Covenant’s strategy was to attack in waves; when the first was badly mangled or wiped out, a second larger wave was sent in, then a third, and a fourth. However many waves needed to go in, the subsequent would always be more populous and better support than the previous. If an air assault occurred it would be the same; a few dropships, then more, and finally too many for the Wolverines to shoot down. Even if they somehow managed to keep them at bay, they would probably run out of ammunition. 

Frost could not contemplate it any longer. He clambered down and ducked back inside the bunker. The rest of the squad was going over their weapons, adjusting their BDU’s, and reinforcing what defenses they had. 

The SQUADCOM crackled to life and Steele’s voice filtered through. “Hurry up, Mads, the Covvies are coming...” he said in a sing-song voice. 

Most of the engineers were already coming back towards the gate. Maddox, who was in the closest team, raised his middle finger. 

“We’re coming, you wee shite. Aw, you must be so tired from having to lift them goddamn sandbags all over the place. Why don’t we trade places; carrying heavy explosives is a _much_ easier job. Less fucking sweatin’ involved.”

“Naw mate,” Steele replied in a lackadaisical tone. “I’m catching the sun up here. Need to work on my tan.”

Maddox did not reply. Frost peered over the edge as the engineers came through the gate. Once they were through, he signalled Grant who tapped in a quick code to the terminal at the opposite end of the bunker. After a brief jolt that reverberated throughout the gatehouse, the large doors below began to close. Once they shut with an ominous, deep _bang_ , Frost could hear the combat engineers conferring below. It was too high up to make out anything they were saying. Eventually, Maddox appeared with nothing but a detonator. 

He crouched down long their sandbag walls, observed the route, then checked the detonator.

“Think it’ll work?” Frost asked, kneeling down.

“Yeah, so long as we don’t get our arses vaporized into goo by the bombardment,” Maddox said as he closed the lid over the detonator's red button at the top. He ran his sleeve over his forehead. “Last of the explosives are about seventy-five meters of the gate. We have to wait until they reach that point before detonation. It means we’ll take a lot of fire beforehand, but it also means we’ll send a lot of’em to Hell before they can get stuck into the fight.”

“Hell’s too good for them,” Moser murmured as he braced his hands on the sandbags, looking out. 

“We know a bombardment’s coming,” Frost said, “we can handle it.” He turned around and looked at all the Marines with him, standing and crouching at various locations within the bunker. “We’re not just jarheads from some colony or an old, Earth nation. We’re UNSC Marines. We’re the best of the best, whatever they can dish out, we can take it and give it back twice as hard.” Everyone nodded and grinned. “Welcome to the suck, boys.”

With that, he knelt beside Maddox in between the two machine guns. Moser took the one on the left and Grant manned the one on the right. Bishop and Knight stood by, continuing to organize the ammunition and placing close quarter weapons near the entrances on either side of the bunker. Nobody spoke or looked one another in the eye. All Frost did was reach over and place his hand on Maddox’s back. The combat engineer’s steely gaze remained fixated on the road. He clutched the detonator in his right hand and with the tip of his thumb repeatedly flipped the cap open and then closed it. 

Frost glanced at his wrist watch. He was not sure why; without any surveillance drones in place thanks to the Navy, in orbit over the other side of the planet, nobody knew when the attack was coming. Perhaps it was just out of habit. So many times he hunkered down on a phase line or waited in the compartment of a Pelican waiting for the jump-off command. Maybe he just wanted to know the time to remember it in the far future when he was an old man entertaining his great grandchildren with his war stories. Briefly, the thought amused him and he smirked. But the smile soon faded as he wondered if the events about to unfold would be ones he wished to tell them. 

He lowered his wrist and exhaled deeply. At the height of the afternoon, it was sunny and hot. Sweat ran along his back underneath his blouse and gathered inside his gloves. It coated his face and brought the dust and soot layered on his forehead into his eyes. Every so often, he blinked as it stung, and wiped them as best he could on the back of his gloved hand. 

Unable to bear it, he raised his wrist again and looked at his watch. He watched the hands tick, tick, tick along and the numerical digital timer beneath the hands change. One minute passed, then another, and another. Five minutes folded into ten, then into fifteen. Frost looked up and looked at his men. Everyone was staring out of the gatehouse. Sunlight poured through the wide, open gap and bombarded their faces. The fronts of their helmets cast shadows over their eyes. Those equipped with visors or ballistic goggles activated the dimming function, and Frost saw them darken. Grant was nibbling his bottom lip. 

Looking back down, he saw another minute pass. Ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty seconds, thirty-seven seconds.

In the distance, he heard it. A deep, electric _whump_. Frost looked up. Up over the hills, he saw a single white-hot plasma cloud, fringed with blue, come barreling through the sky. Everyone looked up and watched it. It was as if it was floating, nearly suspended in slow-motion. 

Down the ramparts, someone raised their voice. 

“Incoming!” the voice cried. 

Instinctively, everyone ducked down and waited for impact. The plasma mortar flew overhead and crashed behind the gatehouse. 

Frost immediately got back up and activated his communications set. 

“Net call, net call, White One-One. Is anybody hit, over!?”

“White One, White Six,” came Lieutenant Conroy’s voice, “negative. Fell short, over.”

“Roger.” Frost dropped his hand. “Alright, Marines, here it comes.”

As if on cue, they heard the Wraiths firing in the distance. _Whump! Whump! Whump!_ Dozens upon dozens of white-blue plasma blobs came over the horizon and began plumbing towards Alpha Base.

Frost put a hand on his helmet and ducked behind the sandbags. “Incooooming!”


	5. Sergeant Frost, Pt. 2

Plasma came crackling through the air and crashing against the walls of the base. Barricades turned into masses of blackened, melting metal. Concrete and titanium armor plates were scorched but managed to withstand the onslaught. Some plasma shells fell short and landed in front of the base walls. Sand flew everywhere. Swathes of grass were reduced to ash or blackened fields pockmarked by orange sparks. Others fell inside the base’s perimeter. The noise was deafening and the air was hot with it. 

Frost flattened behind the sandbags. He pulled his helmet as low as he could over his face and covered it with his hand. Everyone was trying to get smaller, evening balling up in the corners or behind crates. 

Suddenly, Frost’s eyes popped open and he turned on his communications set. 

“Steele!” he shouted over the TEAMCOM. “The bombardment is heavier than expected! Get down here before you get blown away!”

The channel crackled. 

“I’m not fucking moving!”

Frost bit his lip, growled, and got to his feet. He ran to the entrance and was prepared to bolt outside. Before he could, a plasma mortar round struck the ramparts. Metal railings melted and concrete became charred. Another struck a machine gun team directly. Two men disappeared in the white-blue cloud. When it cleared, nothing was left but some black chunks and a mangled weapon. A third fell among some fleeing Army troopers and the concussion sent them flying off the ramparts. 

As soon as the barrage shifted directions, Frost darted out of the bunker, grabbed hold of the ladder, and began climbing. When he was halfway up, another massive blob of plasma landed on the ramparts just a few feet away. The sheer heat from the blast felt like dozens upon dozens of tiny needles digging into his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he clung on tightly and recovered. Looking to his left, he could see the interior of Alpha Base. One of the circles of Warthogs took a direct hit. One vehicle burst into flames and another rolled over from the shockwave. Soldiers and Marines scattered. Several plasma mortars struck Alpha Base HQ. Windows shattered and thinner, titanium armor began to melt. Plasma fell on the airfield. Pelicans and Falcons took flight before they were struck. Some were not as fortunate; one Army Falcon received a direct hit just as it left the tarmac. The engines exploded and it plummeted downwards. Burning occupants tumbled out. More plasma fell and hit an ammunition dump. Engineers and quartermasters fled as the impact caused a chain reaction. Bundles of grenades, crates filled with rockets, packages filled with magazines of varying ammunition types, and mines exploded. Clouds of dust billowed upwards torn by tongues of flame. 

The explosions were so fierce Frost could feel the shockwave against his chest rig. He tucked his chin down and tried to protect his face. When the secondary explosions finally died down, he looked up and saw a massive, black column of smoke rising from the burning remains of the supply dump. 

Continuing up the ladder, braving the storm of plasma, he flattened out on his stomach and slithered over to Steele. The scout sniper was balled up behind his sandbags and covering his head. 

Frost grabbed his webbing and tried to drag him over.

“Are you wounded!?” he screamed over the noise. 

“Leave me alone!” Steele hollered back.

“Are you wounded!?”

“Leave me the fuck alone!”

Rising to his knees, Frost pulled Steele over onto his back. 

“Move your ass, Marine or we’re both gonna die out here!”

Steele finally obeyed and began moving to the edge. Frost slid to the side and allowed his friend to go first before he hastily followed. They ducked inside the bunker, huddled side by side, and clamped their helmets down tightly.

The bombardment went on. Every nearby blast, whether it was on the ground, on the canyon rock, or the face of the defensive wall, jarred him terribly. Each concussion made it feel as though one’s teeth were rattling inside their mouth.

Bishop was laying on his stomach with his face planted on the ground and his arms over his head. When he looked up, Frost locked eyes with him. The stocky Scotsman grinned at him. 

“Kinda makes you wish you were in the Marine Corps Band, don’t it!?” he hollered and followed it up with a sarcastic laugh. He covered his face again. Behind the sandbags, just a few paces away, Grant laughed.

“And miss out on this!?” he called. 

“Incoming!” 

Frost looked up. A huge blot of plasma was cascading right towards the bunker. Quickly, he activated his set. 

“Everybody outside!” 

All the Marines got to their feet and ran as fast as they could. Frost planted himself by the entrance and ushered them through. When the last man went out, he followed. Everyone dove from the bunker and tried to find cover. The plasma landed behind them and sizzled loudly. There was a terrible racket as crates and other objects were thrown around. But with that final plasma mortar, the bombardment ceased. 

Everyone stayed down for a few moments. Frost raised his head, slowly looked around, and then rose to his feet. 

“Stay down, stay down until I say so,” he said.

A dreadful moan rose above Alpha Base. Frost went to the railing and looked out at the interior. Everywhere, there were twisted, mangled, blackened vehicles. Wounded soldiers and Marines were all over the ground. Able-bodied troops went to their aid, treating them on the spot or hefting them onto stretchers. Their wounded cries rose above the base like a cloud of fog.

He watched only for a few moments but it seemed like hours. Turning away, he waved his hand. “Get your asses back in the gatehouse and get ready, they’re going to push now. Mads, you ready.”

Maddox resumed his original position and looked at Frost with an agitated expression. 

“I prefer it when I’m the one blowing things up. I, on the other hand, don’t like being blown up myself.” 

Frost knelt down next to him and looked down the road.

It wasn’t long before the first Covenant vehicle appeared on the road. It was a Wraith, followed by several other heavy tanks. Trailing behind the armored knuckle of the convoy’s vanguard was a procession of single-occupant fast attack vehicles, Ghosts. Mingled with them were Spectres, a two seated, more armored craft with a small plasma mortar. One after the other, assortments of heavier and light Covenant vehicles—sleek crafts with purple, blue, and bronze plating—approached the base.

Frost began reading off enemy vehicle designations and providing counts over the network. Behind him, Maddox fidgeted with the detonator. 

“No Locusts yet,” he hissed, “where are the Locusts?” 

Just as they feared Wraiths, they did not want to face Locusts. The four-legged assault platforms fired concentrated beams of pink plasma that could obliterate structures within minutes. Even a single platform was a major hazard for defensive battles—and nearly every battle the UNSC fought was on the defense.

“Might not have any,” Knight muttered, “maybe they got surprised by us too.”

“No aircraft either,” Frost continued.

The lead Wraith came closer. Vehicles began to choke the entire road. Infantry began to mix in with the armor. 

Frost looked over at Maddox. The engineer looked back. 

“You may want to cover your ears.”

Gingerly, he pressed his thumb down on the detonator. 

The lead Wraith burst into purple and white flames. Down the line, columns of soil enveloped the convoy. Debris blossomed upwards and fell like rain. Shrapnel bounced off the canyon walls. Some of the lighter vehicles were caught between charges; one Ghost was flung to the side by a charge on its right side and was blown back the other way in two halves by a charge on its left. Elites and Grunts were thrown about or torn into pieces. Frost could see alien hands, feet, legs, arms, and heads splattered onto the road. A slow moving Shadow transport was spun onto its side by an explosion and buckled in half at the same time. Hordes of Grunts, coated in fire, their methane tanks popping, flooded out, screeching and screaming so loudly that Frost could hear them in between the explosions. A Spectre was thrown straight up, flipping end over end, throwing the pair of Elites out. The succession of charges went down the entire length of the canyon, and didn’t stop until it reached the bend. 

The echoes of the explosive orchestra resounded for several minutes. Then there was silence, saving for sparking, flaming vehicle hulks. There were a few cries of pain drifting in the air but they too fell silent eventually.

“Bravo Red One, sitrep, over,” Hayes said over the comms.

“Targets destroyed, over,” Frost replied.

A shot from a plasma carbine punctuated his sentence. Frost instinctively crouched down, then popped back up to see Covenant troops advancing through the wreckage. Elites were punching, kicking, throwing Grunts around, who were moving slowly and without any hint of morale. Moving more speedily were Jackals, with their blue shields and long range rifles, and more unsettling, Skirmishers with energy gauntlets. Teams of five and ten made their way through the shambles of the convoy, their shields locked. Even from his distant perch, Frost could see their thin bodies clad in purple armor, their narrow heads with long jaws and large round purple eyes on either side of their heads. They looked more like birds than a sentient race. The gray skinned Skirmishers were even uglier, bearing feathers coating their heads, necks, and arms. They wore light armor the color of their skin and had a beak at the end of their long snouts. The Skirmishers were moving in pairs or by themselves, clambering to the top of destroyed vehicles and leaping from different vehicle hulks to avoid being bogged down. When they reformed into packs they would be much more difficult and wouldn’t even need mobile gravity lifts to get onto the walls.

“All call signs, open fire!” Frost screamed into the comms. Bishop and Knight immediately opened up with the general purpose machine guns. The heavy weapons raked back and forth along the canyon, cutting down Skirmishers as they scrambled for cover. 

All along the ramparts, machine guns rattled, battle rifles thundered, and DMR’s popped. Frost saw Steele run out of the bunker and go up the ladder. Moments later, sniper rifle rounds began splitting the air. A Skirmisher jumped from the back of a destroyed Wraith, aiming for another tank. In midair, a rifle round caught it and split its torso from its waist. 

Frost fired a burst from his assault rifle at the Covenant approaching the gate. “Keep it up!” He encouraged his squad. Kodiak shells began to fall, sending up great columns of earth. One Skirmisher had managed to make its way to the gate, so Frost leaned over the railing of the platform and fired three bursts from his assault rifle, which cut the alien down. “They’re getting closer,” he yelled, “get ready to start dropping frags!”

He looked down the canyon. It was the only place where the Covenant were attacking. Still, waves of alien infantry were filtering through the wreckage. Skirmishers were doubling in number, Elites were rallying their Grunts, and small aliens were finally returning fire. Groups of Elites began moving independently of the Grunts. They were carrying some kind of equipment and as they drew nearer, Frost could see they were carrying gravity lift pads. Others were carrying bombs. 

He tapped Maddox on the back. “Start lobbing M9’s down there, scatter them as before they can deploy their gear!”

“Bravo Red One, this is Bravo Red Six!” Lieutenant Conroy shouted over the SQUADCOM. “White Platoon is detaching two squads to cover the gate before the Covvies get through. Get down there and augment them!”

“Roger, Bravo Red Six!” Frost turned around and got Maddox’s attention. “I’m heading down below. Keep things running up here!” 

“Got it!” 

Frost ran out of the bunker, passed a group of soldiers reinforcing the ramparts, and went down below. 

Marines began gathering around the Scorpion tank parked a few meters away from the gate. Around it were sandbags and fighting holes. Frost helped organize the fireteams along the firing line before taking a look at the tank. He noticed the gunner position was empty. Jumping up, he stamped his foot on the hatch. A moment later, it opened, revealing a scruffy red-haired Marine from his unit. Emery glared up at him. 

“Well whaddya want from me, Mr. Ripper?”

“Need an extra hand?” Frost asked, motioning towards the empty gunner’s seat in the center of the tank. Emery glanced at it.

“If only the neural implant covered that too,” he grumbled over the rumbling engine, then nodded. Frost hefted his assault rifle over his shoulder and slipped into the seat. Just as he did, he could hear thumping on the other side of the gate. He turned halfway in the turret and pointed at the gate. Emery nodded, closed his hatch, and backed the tank up a few more meters. As the tank rolled backwards, Frost leaned out over both sides. 

“Take cover!” he shouted to the men. 

Moments later, the gate burst open. One came off its bracers and collapsed onto the ground. The other retracted slightly but finally cranked to a stop. Through the haze, Covenant came charging through. Grunts led the way with Elites mixed in. Jackals and Skirmishers came in piecemeal. Frost began firing in short controlled bursts. He raked the sand in front of him, turning the turret back and forth in a semicircle. Dozens of Grunts were torn to shreds. Red, yellow, blue, and green armor chips sprayed from their chests. Some dropped their weapons and turned tail, only to be killed by heavy rounds to their backs. The Elites roared and charged, but their localized shielding didn’t last long in the face of constant streams of lead. Bodies began to pile up in front of the gate, the gravity lift equipment buried beneath them.

Empty casings flowed from the side of the machine gun. His entire upper body shook. Grunts and Elites continued to fall in droves. Then he started to hear the tell-tale signs of frag grenades exploding.

Maddox’s voice came over the SQUADCOM.

“Frost, the Skirmishers have reached the walls, they’re trying to climb up, and—”

“Banshees!” a cry rang out, “Banshees, at six o'clock!”

Frost turned in the turret to see several V-formations of purple aircraft jetting towards them. He heard the ripple of Wolverine missiles being fired and then saw them streak through the air. The missiles struck the formations, obliterating half into fiery wreckage. But half kept coming and he could see their fuel rod guns charging.

“Emery, get out of the Scorpion! Incoming!” 

Frost began to get out but his harness got caught on the hooks inside the turret pit. He looked back up and saw that another salvo of missiles were barreling into the Banshee formations, but it was too late. Three of the Banshees fired and three blots of bright green plasma were gliding down at the gate. One of the plasma missiles was heading right for the center of the tank, as if it were coming right for Frost.

He struggled to get his harness free. He tugged and pulled as hard as he could, but the metal hooks were snagged into the material of his harness. “Fuck. _Fuck._ ”

He drew his combat knife and cut the caught straps. After a few split seconds of frantic cutting, the harness strap snapped. Frost sheathed the knife as he ambled out of the turret and leaped off the tank. The plasma struck just as he did. The heat washed over him, pricking his back.

He landed hard on his stomach, groaning. His ears were ringing. Frost rolled onto his back, sat up, and gripped his left bicep. A piece of metal of the tank had been shorn off and flung through the air, cutting his bicep in the process. It was not just a mere graze, but from the rate of bleeding it did appear anything vital was cut.

Frost looked back at the tank. Surprisingly, it was still in one piece, save for the main cannon which melted away from the plasma strike. The armor was scorched, smoke rose from the engine and treads, and the entire frame seemed to snag. The tank was beginning to burn, and the flames were growing more intense by the second.

Before he could even manage to get on his feet, Frost watched a trio Grunts jump through the flames onto the tank. They turned to face him, shrieking and cackling. He went for his sidearm, but then the hatch of the tank was thrown open. Emery appeared with a shotgun, and quickly pumped each Grunt with buckshot. Each little alien was thrown off the tank by the force of the weapon. 

The tanker jumped down from his vehicle and jogged over to Frost.

“You hit?”

“Shrapnel,” Frost muttered. “I got biofoam on the back of my belt.”

Emery went behind, grabbed the can, then placed the nozzle in the wound. He squeezed quickly and the gash was soon filled. Frost sighed in relief after the initial sting. The tank clipped the canister back onto Frost’s belt.

“Good?”

“Good.”

“I’m gonna get to another tank.” Emery handed him the M90 shotgun. Get some.”

The two bumped their fists together before Emery ran off. As he did, Marine and Army fireteams closed in around the wreckage and began firing at the Covenant who were renewing their assault. Frost was about to join them when his earpiece crackled to life. 

“We’ve got Skirmishers on the walls! Repeat, Skirmishers are on the walls!” Steele yelled over the SQUADCOM.

Frost bolted up the stairs, skipping two or three steps at a time. He bounded past the troopers still manning their positions and into the gatehouse. Inside, it was filled with smoke. It was hard to see and breath. Grant was pinned to the floor by a Skirmisher who was trying to strangle him. Bishop was holding another of the scrawny beasts by its neck and slamming his huge fist into its face repeatedly. Knight had a Skirmisher pinned against the top of the sandbag wall; the Skirmisher squawked and flailed as it tried to free itself, but Knight had more strength than it. Moser was fighting to keep his weapon in his hands, but a Skirmisher was fighting tooth and nail to snatch it from his hands. Maddox was on the floor with one, rolling and trading blows with an alien almost a foot taller than him.

Frost cocked the M90—there were nine shells left. He first went over to Grant, and smashed the stock of the shotgun into the base of the Skirmishers skull. Screeching in surprise, the alien keeled over onto its side. Grant gasped for air and rolled to the side. Frost kicked the bird-like monster in the gut, pressed the barrel of the shotgun against its head, and pulled the trigger. Purple blood spattered the walls and Frost’s BDU.”

He whirled around and trudged over to Bishop, pulling him off of the half-conscious Skirmisher. Frost fired from the hip, flinging the beast against the wall. Its gut was torn open by buckshot. As it slid down limply, and Frost directed his attention to Maddox, who had gained the upper hand on his adversary. But Frost pulled him off of the Skirmisher by the collar of his chest rig, then pulled the shotgun’s trigger again. The barrel barked and the alien’s midsection was pulverized. Frost then made his way over to Moser, who was still dancing with his opponent. 

“Out of the way!” he yelled. Monster let go of his battle rifle. The Skirmisher immediately dropped the weapon as soon as it was in his claws, as if it were covered with thorns Seizing the opportunity, Frost struck the alien, then snatched it by the back of the neck and pushed it down to its knees. At the same time, he brought up the shotgun with his other hand and fired into the Skirmisher’s back. Armor and flesh were torn away and Frost could see what was left of the creature’s spine as he dropped it. Finally, he went to Knight, who stepped out of the way to allow Frost to pump a shell into the alien’s chest.

Four shells were left in the weapon. “Everyone alright?” Frost asked, hardly winded. The others, wide-eyed and panting, all wheezed their affirmations. Frost nodded, then remembered Steele. He ran out the other door of the gatehouse, where soldiers and Marines were fighting hand to hand with Skirmishers. Avoiding the brawl, he scrambled up the ladder to the roof of the gatehouse. It was scorched by plasma, and the sandbags had been thrown all over the place. A pair of dead Skirmishers were on the roof, and Steele was fighting with a third. Steele was pinned but had his thumbs in the Skirmisher’s eyes. The alien screeched and wailed as the sniper’s thumbs dug deeper, but did not relinquish its weight on him. Frost dropped the shotgun and made his way over to them; as he did, he drew his KA-BAR knife.

The blade glinted in the sunlight as he strode towards the pair. He hooked his left arm around the Skirmisher’s neck, grabbed the bottom of its jaw, and hiked it back. In that moment, Frost caught a glimpse of Steele’s surprised face as he withdrew his hands. Then, Frost plunged the knife into the Skirmisher’s frail throat and dragged it across the alien’s throat. The beast sputtered and gurgled, and Frost felt blood leak over his fingers as it hacked. The Skirmisher shuddered, then went limp. Frost withdrew the blade and tossed the corpse to the side.

Frost wiped his KA-BAR knife across his leg and then slid it back into the sheath. “You okay?” Frost asked as he lowered a hand down to his friend.

“Do I fucking _look_ okay?” Steele asked, gesturing towards his blood covered hands and chest rig.

“It’s not your blood so you must be!” Frost replied.

Frost and Steele got back down and saw that the Skirmishers were taking the platforms despite more troopers coming into the fray. A net call went out, denying more reinforcements to the ramparts and ordering those already on to fall back to the first interior line.

Almost immediately the soldiers began falling back. Some made for the stairs, others leaped from the platforms onto the floor of the base. Others went further down the walls to more defensible positions where there was no fighting yet. Machine guns and tank shells opened up on the mass of Skirmishers flowing over the walls to the right of the gatehouse. Dozens dropped dead in seconds, but a dozen more immediately took their place. Instead of chasing the retreating troops, the Skirmishers turned their eyes onto the gatehouse.

Frost and Steele headed back inside and immediately threw down crates, boxes, and sandbags in the entrance. “They’re coming! Grab anything you can and barricade the door! Move one of those machine guns over there to fire on the door, Knight keep that other one firing out of the gatehouse!” Frost barked.

Before they had even stacked enough equipment in front of the entrance the Skirmishers were trying to break in. One leaped over the barricade only to catch a burst of assault rifle fire from Grant. More attempts to break through, clawing and tearing boxes and sandbags from the barricade as the squad attempted to add to it. Pistols were drawn. Green bolts of plasma were fired into the gatehouse, then handgun rounds were fired in return. Frost and his men ducked and dodged as they built the barricade, exchanged fire for a few moments, killed a Skirmisher or two, then went back to building. 

Despite waves of Skirmishers trying to break through and firing through every crevice possible, the barricade was almost finished. But as Frost placed another crate on the assortment of equipment cases, ammunition crates, and large boxes, he saw a pair of Skirmishers lob plasma grenades at the barricade. The pulsating blue grenades landed somewhere on the front of the barricade, and he was close enough to hear them hissing. “Grenade!” he cried and dived for the floor. Everyone did as well, and the explosion rocked the gatehouse and destroyed half of the barricade. Some boxes were melted away while others were toppled over by the blast’s immense force. The entrance was still partially blocked, but there was now a gap between the largest crate and the right side of the passageway. 

Frost was the first one to get to his feet and turned around with his shotgun raised. Skirmishers were coming through. He fired the last four rounds quickly into the breach in the hasty barricade, dropping several aliens. _Click_. The M90 was empty. Frost flipped the weapon end over end, gripping it by the barrel as if the weapon were a baseball bat, and charged at the first assaulter that dared to enter the gatehouse. He smashed the stock of the weapon against its head as if he were hitting a home run, and sent the creature spiraling to the floor. He brought the weapon down like a sledgehammer onto its skull several times, hearing the crunch of its skull each time. Frost whirled around to find a Skirmisher aiming a plasma pistol at him. Before it could fire, Bishop tackled it and slammed its head into the wall until it stopped moving. Steele covered him, firing his pistol with one hand and an SMG he had scrounged with the other. Bodies piled up over the barricade and purple blood splashed the walls. The aliens relented briefly to pull some of the dead away, suppressed by the squad’s gunfire the entire time. A renewed assault began. Frost unslung his assault rifle and began firing in short bursts as they came in. The entire squad backed up to the center of the gatehouse, where the heavy machine gun had been moved. Bishop took hold of it and began firing into the gap. More Skirmishers fell. Scores of the aliens were torn apart by the large caliber bullets, until it jammed.

“Fuck me!” the Scotsman roared, “It’s the Twenty-Sixth-goddamn-Century and shit still manages to find a way to _not bloody work_!” 

The Skirmishers pressed the attack, clawing and screeching. Frost was reloading when he took a moment to look at his men. They were determined, but tired. With smoke pouring in, plasma firing coming through the gap, and Skirmishers climbing over their fallen dead just to get to them, the gatehouse was going to be their tomb rather than a defensible position.

“On me!” Frost yelled as he slammed a full magazine into his assault rifle. “Frags first, then we assault through the barricade and regroup on the first line! Moser, Grant, grenades, do it!”

Everyone backed away. Moser and Grant stayed in front and primed their M9’s. Crates toppled back as Skirmishers kept trying to break through. 

“Fire in the hole!” Moser and Grant shouted together, lobbing the grenades through the breach. Skirmishers shrieked and tried to get away. All the Marines crouched down and covered their faces. Two dull thuds went off, followed by pained screams. 

“Advance!” Frost said, stepping in between the two riflemen. Forming a three-man line, they pushed through the barricade. Stepping over dead Skirmishers, they executed the wounded and gunned down those still standing. Frost and Grant knelt beside the stairs and provided security while the rest of the squad went down. Moser was the last one to go, and he tapped Grant on the back. As he got up, the rifleman tapped Frost. Together, they went down the stairs. As they left, more Covenant arrived on the ramparts, riding the gravity wells they erected at the base of the walls. Elites, Grunts, and Jackals began storming the walls. 

Below, Frost and his squad bounded the short distance to the interior line. Enforced with fighting holes, sandbags, crates, barricades, and Scorpion tanks, they took cover and began firing. The ramparts were thick with Covenant. Bodies began falling down as machine guns hammered the tightly packed groups. 

A net order went out, ordering all Scorpion tanks to fire. Dozens of high explosive rounds slammed into the gatehouse and ramparts on either side of it. Platoons of Covenant disappeared in the explosions. The top of the gatehouse collapsed. Clots of bodies tumbled downwards.

When the salvos of tank fire ended, Frost was the first to rise to his feet. It took some time for the dust to clear, but when it did, all that was left was a ruin of twisted steel, piles of concrete chunks, and clumps of crushed, bleeding alien corpses. Frost could see the Covenant infantry retreating, darting between the smoldering wreckage of their convoy. 

“Nice view,” Steele commented tiredly, his elbows propped up on the sandbag wall, “wonder why they decided to put up a wall in the first place. When did that evac say it was getting here?’

“Four hours,” someone muttered.

Upon hearing that, Frost glanced at his watch. The fight hadn’t even lasted half an hour.


	6. Ambition's End

“If you were to recall,” Frost heard Steele yell as they crawled behind a sandbag wall with plasma flying over their heads, “evac was supposed to be here in four hours!”

“Yes, it was,” Frost grunted, slithering over a pile of spent shell casings.

“Now tell me, do you see any bloody ships above us?” Steele asked exasperatedly. 

Frost didn’t need to look up. All day, his eyes were glued to the golden, hazy sky since the start of the second Covenant assault. Not a single UNSC vessel appeared. No Pelicans descended from orbit to rescue them. Even the ships already present over the planet were holding position , fearing that if they moved to support the garrison Covenant ships would move in. The battlegroup commander wanted to avoid a space battle.

It was a decision that would sacrifice the entire garrison _ , _ Frost thought bitterly to himself. 

The battle had been raging for almost six hours. The Covenant were surging over the devastated remains of the gate walls and the amount of dead had brought the rubble pile almost several feet higher. But the Covenant numbers seemed endless; half a dozen positions on the walls fell into their hands and they were now using them to safely move more troops into the base. Covenant gunners set up plasma turrets within the rubble, dueling with the Marines’ machine guns for fire superiority. Their air attacks were growing increasingly ferocious, having knocked out a quarter of the available vehicles, including all but two Kodiaks. The Army garrison was being steadily whittled down and only two full companies were fit for combat. Frost and the rest of the Marines had taken light casualties, but were becoming exhausted from having to pick up the slack. 

Frost’s battle armor was coated with plasma burns, making it practically black. His face was covered in a layer of soot. The chaotic fighting left him feeling more drained than ever before. Numerous times the Covenant closed the gap and engaged in hand-to-hand combat; his KA-BAR knife was practically coated in blue blood. Somehow, he lost his assault rifle and was lugging a battle rifle with him now. 

Ammo was low. Medical supplies were low. Water was low. Everyone’s energy and morale was low. Frost pondered how much longer they could hold on. 

“Phantom!” somebody hollered. Frost stopped briefly to watch the dropship hover over the base. A Wolverine quickly swiveled its launchers around and fired a volley. The missiles slammed into the side of the dropship, taking out large chunks of its armor plating, and sending it into a downward spiral. The sleek purple craft erupted in white and purple flames just as it crashed into one of the walls. Aliens tumbled out, aflame, while UNSC troopers hurried to finish them with clean shots to the head.

Frost and Steele clawed their way into a sandbag redoubt, snuggled in between the wreckage of several burnt-out Warthogs and an immobile Scorpion. Their position was part a shallow trench network, consisting of hastily dug foxholes linked by barely functioning vehicles and wreckage. A makeshift defensive line cut through the center of the base, running from the headquarters to the armory and barracks. Marines and Army troopers were wedged into every crevice and shred of cover from burned out vehicles, sandbags, and Covenant dead.

The rest of the squad were dug in, covered in filth, and sitting in a squalor of spent magazines, bloody bandages, discarded MRE packets, and a few tin cans filled with urine. 

“Any word on that evac?” Moser asked as Frost sidled up beside him against the sandbags.

“None,” Frost muttered, taking a quick swig from his canteen before tossing a bundle of ammunition onto the ground, “rearm and reload. They’ll be coming again. Bishop, is that machine gun still functioning?’

Bishop was wrestling with another turret. He angrily banged the side.

“Damn thing just won’t fire anymore. I think something inside is warped.”

Frost rubbed his chin, then went over to the Scorpion. A Marine tanker, Emery, was working on it, balancing on his heels as he tinkered with the engine. 

“How’s it look?” Frost asked.

“I need some more time to get the engine fixed up. A lot of shit got knocked loose. I bet the one buried under the gate is in better shape,” Emery grumbled in his drawl.

“Make it quick, this thing may be our only chance of falling back if they overwhelm us.”

“The last thing I need is Jack the Ripper telling me shit I already know,” Emery muttered. 

Frost, agitated, went back to the others and sat down on a crate. The others formed a semicircle around him, panting and cursing.

“Whose idea was it to come to this damn planet?” Steele asked sarcastically after a moment. Nobody laughed, but a few managed to smirk or shake their heads. 

Before anything else was said, green and blue blots of plasma darted over their heads. The squad ducked down and grabbed their weapons. Aliens spilled over the rubble and charged at the line. 

“Here we go!” Frost shouted. “Grant, get into the tank turret! Knight, load the rocket launcher!” 

The main body of the Covenant assault unit was made up by Grunts. The mass of tiny, multicolored, armored aliens with towering Elites in the midst surged forward. Frost grimaced; hearing the small beasts shrill voices crackle and scream and wail was worse than watching them storm at him. 

An order went out to open fire. 

The entire line erupted in yellow muzzle flashes as machine guns, assault rifles, battle rifles, and submachine guns tore into the enemy. Entire rows were felled by the sweep of a machine gun turret. Bodies piled on top of one another. On and on the aliens went, cut down like blades of grass. Frost fired his battle rifle as fast as he could, one three round burst after the other. The rifle drummed against his shoulder with each squeeze of the trigger. More Grunts went down, and like an ocean wave another row rushed over them. 

They were now less than a few yards away. Frost let go of the battle rifle, drawing his knife. He planted his feet into the ground and readied himself. Then, the Scorpion cannon fired. The concussion made his ears ring and caused him to stumble, but in that moment Frost watched the shell cut a swath into the horde of aliens. It exploded in the thick of them. Half a dozen other tanks opened fire, erasing multitudes of Grunts. After a few more tank rounds exploded in their ranks, the aliens were forced to retreat, and the immense wall of gunfire dwindled to a few withering potshots. But as they retreated, Frost spotted a furious Elite who turned on its heel and fired a single shot from its fuel rod gun.

He turned to his men.

“Take cover!” 

In the next moment, he felt a terrible crash and immense heat before things went black.

  
  


The wind blew gently, sending ripples through thick flower gardens lining the ranch house. Yellow buttercups and marigolds, pink roses, blue columbines, white daisies; they all moved and flounced with the ease of water. Frost blinked, stretching out his arms, as if to catch the old Nova Scotia wind he grew up with. He looked to his right, and saw the horses trotting in the fields, their dark manes dancing. He saw his older sister, Adelaide, riding one, pounding along the countryside by herself. Her long orange hair was like fire spilling over her shoulders and back. 

The air was chilly, so he pulled the collar of his jacket tight. It was quiet at the ranch, save for the wind. He walked up to the deck, and spied his other older sister, Sadie, sitting on the swinging bench. 

“Why do you have to go?” she asked, her voice angry but quivering. Her silvery eyes gazed at him through her swaying brown locks. She had delicate features; a soft face and chin, a small nose, small ears, small eyes, small lips. She was like a doll, with pale porcelain skin. “Why? You’re only sixteen. Why do you have to go? Gone for three years, and you’ve come back, just to leave again?”

Frost looked down at his booted feet, his camouflage fatigues, covered with his old work jacket.

“They chose me. I’ve got to go. It has to be me.”

“Why?” 

Frost and Sadie stared at one another for some time. He knelt down in front of her.

“I’ll come back soon. and everything will be like it used to. I promise.”

  
  


Frost felt a hand shake him roughly.

“Frost! Frost!” 

He opened his eyes and saw his squad standing over him. Knight was kneeling over him on his left and Steele was down on one knee on his right. The others’ filthy faces relaxed when his eyes opened.

“Bloody hell,” Steele sighed, “since I’ve known you, I think you’ve been knocked out for the collective span of a year.”

“Two in one day, that’s a new record,” Knight chimed in with a broad grin. Coughing, Frost sat up with their help.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Shellfire drove the Covvies back. Almost closed for hand-to-hand again,” Bishop said, taking off his helmet and wiping a sleeve across his soot-covered forehead.

Others mumbled their agreements and disagreements, but eventually they went silent. Frost looked at his men, then all around. Not a single bullet, plasma bolt, or artillery shell was in the air. The aliens retreated from view; Frost could catch a glimpse of them scampering away over the hillside.

“There’s no way they’d break the siege now,” Maddox said. 

“Better not be another fucking Scarab,” Steele said, sliding a fresh clip into his battle rifle as he looked all around, “I’m not in the mood.”

Frost scanned the horizon, then his eyes went to the sky. His heart sank. 

A pair of Covenant light cruisers were gliding towards the base, one in front of the other. The sleek spacecraft made no sound. They had long, thin forward sections, with larger, rounder midsections, petering off into small tails. 

Steele trudged up next to Frost. They exchanged a glance. This wasn’t their first time staring at the face of defeat in the shape of a Covenant warship. Numerous times, the pair and their squad mates narrowly escaped a planetary glassing. Frost found the bright, concentrated, purple-white plasma beams to be haunting as they drifted across planets and reduced entire continents to ash. After seven years, there were too many glassed planets to count. 

“Guess we should load up the Pelicans and get the hell out of here,” Steele muttered.

“Race you,” Frost said in return. 

The comms came alive with Colonel Hayes’ desperate voice over the network communication links.

“Goddammit, Hugh! Those ships are heading right for us! Your carrier is twice its size, they don’t stand a chance!”

“It could be a trap, they might be luring us into something.” Captain Hugh of the UNSC  _ Burnside _ whimpered. “I’m not moving my ship, I’m sorry Colonel.”

“Listen to me, you coward. If you don’t move your ship into position and take down those cruisers, this entire garrison is going to burn. Do you understand that?’

No reply came. “Hugh!” Hayes hollered over the radio.

“I’m sorry, Hayes,” came Captain Hugh’s meek voice.

Frost shook his head. He turned to the others, trying to find something to say. But before he uttered even a single word, he stopped. The men’s eyes were as wide as saucers and their mouths had dropped. Frost whirled around, turning his gaze forward once more. His eyes widened as well. 

“Holy shit.”

A great golden light shot downwards above the leading light cruiser. In a flash, it struck the light cruiser, its heat washing over it. Its shield appeared, flickered, and then disappeared. Immediately, a second golden streak came downwards and pierced the ship. Hull plating burst, cracks appeared, and with a massive detonation the ship split in two. Meanwhile, the other light cruiser began to bank away from the descending, burning wreckage of the first starship. Minutes passed, then another golden streak came down from the sky. It hit the light cruiser, eliminating its shield, and the second round hit its bow. Green lights flashed and died away in the hull. Several explosions rocked the bow and soon the very front exploded into purple and red flames. Dipping down, the cruiser began to descend towards the planet. 

Everyone within the base cheered and held up helmets and weapons. The network communication link buzzed to life. 

“All UNSC ground forces be advised,” said a female voice over the comms “prepare for evac. We’ve got reports more enemy ships are on the way.”

“Roger!” Hayes yelled back over the radio. “Drop your Pelicans, we’ll be up there before you know it! Net call, net call, all call signs, it’s time to pack it up and ditch this shithole.”

***

Before long, a steady stream of Pelicans and Albatross dropships descended from orbit. The original task force which brought Frost and the 89th MEU to Ambition, made up of a carrier and a pair of frigates, were also launching their transports. Each craft was loaded with wounded, cargo, vehicles, and the garrison. Gunfire and plasma bursts were still being exchanged, but the Covenant were licking their wounds. It was a reprieve from hours of combat.

Frost and his squad were helping the wounded enter the Pelicans. He and Steele lifted a litter holding a bloodstained Army trooper and slid it into the rear of a Pelican.

“I can’t believe it!” Steele said happily. 

“Those MAC rounds were the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen!” Frost exclaimed, taking a moment to glance up at the sky. The ships were high in orbit so he couldn’t see them, but his heart was still filled with wonder. “I wonder what kind of ship it is. Look at all those Pelicans. It must be a big one.”

The conversation cut short as Colonel Hayes approached. Frost immediately stood at attention and saluted. Steele just waved his hand limply from his brow before walking away. The Colonel shook his head towards the sniper but returned Frost’s gesture.

“Frost, get your team together, I need a word.”

Frost finished with the wounded, making sure the Pelican dusted off, before heading over to where Hayes was standing with Melendez. Melendez looked haggard. His face was dirty and his battle armor had taken a few carbine hits, though none penetrated. As the men assembled in a semicircle around the pair, Frost felt that the Army officer was redeemed from his earlier behavior, to a certain extent. At least he fought with his men. 

“Alright, with the arrival of our evac, I guess it would be redundant of me to say that we’re abandoning the planet,” Hayes began, “I’ve been communicating with the new ship’s commander, whose taken over Naval operations for this system. We’ll be able to get what’s left of our forces and equipment into the ships in no time flat. But we have a problem. I’ll let the Lieutenant Colonel explain.”

Melendez was putting his weight on an assault rifle with the stock planted in the ground, but at the mention of his name he stood straight.

“We need to wipe any trace of Earth’s location or other colony planets in our database. If the Covenant don’t end up glassing this rock, there’s a chance they may be able to access the database and retrieve the coordinates for countless planets. My techs would have taken care of it by now, but the HQ has received the worst of the shelling all day and it’s ruined our operating systems. We only have three working datapads left, and all of our terminals are damaged or destroyed. Repairing them is out of the question.”

“Are you sure that all of them are unuseable, sir?” asked Knight.

“We consolidated our main terminals on the top floor of the HQ. The top floor is gone now. Any others are out of commission, we’ve checked.” Melendez took a breath, closed his eyes for a second, then said, “Even if we  _ could _ purge our databases right now, it wouldn’t be enough. Since this base was still under development, there are all manner of documents, both electronic and hard copy, all over this base. Supply forms, cargo manifests, transfer orders, material lists, you name it. It’s spread out all over this base, and there’s no way we can comb through it in the time we have.”

“Blow the base then,” Maddox said with a shrug. 

Melendez glared at the combat engineer. 

“Yes, with what explosives? We don’t have enough and we’re running out of time,” the Army officer growled.

Hayes took a step forward, “We do have one option. It’s drastic. Insane would be a better word. I’m talking to you because you’re some of my best of the troops I have in the vanguard.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Frost caught Steele tossing a nervous glance his way. Despite his gut trying to fight it, he also felt uneasy. When Hayes referred to the squad without any hint of endearment, it never ended well. Hayes went on. “A Pelican from the new ship is going to be landing within the hour. By that time the evacuation will be nearing completion. On board this Pelican will be a Medium Fusion Destructive Device--”

“Uh, sir?” Steele said, raising his hand. Frost, standing right beside him, slapped his hand back down. The two friends exchanged a glare before turning their attention back to Hayes.

The senior officer gritted his teeth. Then, Melendez took over.

“The plan is to place the MFDD at the headquarters building, defend it until all forces have been evacuated, and finally arm and detonate the nuke. 

“Fifteen kilotons of explosive power will be enough to vaporize this base and any shred of evidence, hard copy or otherwise,” Hayes affirmed. 

“Um, sir?” Steele said again, raising his hand again only to have it slapped down once more by Frost.

“What is it?” Hayes snapped.

“Sir, are you asking us to stay behind? Furthermore sir, there are not one by two HAVOK warheads sitting in the silos just over near the airfield, why can’t we use those, sir?”

Hayes grumbled but Melendez answered for him. 

“Detonating the two Variant V missiles won’t do the job, even if the combined yield is sixty megatons. Those silos are designed to contain an accidental nuclear detonation as well as protect them from enemy attacks. I’ve talked with the nuclear team we have on base, and we’ve agreed that while the immediate area around the silos would be demolished, we can’t take the risk of not destroying the entire base. The MFDD will be able to wipe the base off the map, so the silo doors have been shut indefinitely.”

“And no, I’m not asking you to stay behind, Lance Corporal!” Hayes interrupted. 

Frost reached over and quickly grabbed Steele’s forearm as the latter took an aggravated step forward. Hayes was well loved by the men of the 89 th , but Steele couldn’t be counted among them.

Hayes glared heatedly, then said quietly, “You were the first boots-on-the-ground of the entire MEU, the first ones to fight while we watched from orbit, and now I’m asking you to be the last ones off the field. Place the nuke in the HQ building, defend it at all costs, and once the last transports are away, we’ll divert a Pelican to your position. Arm the MFDD and extract.”

As Steele breathed a sigh of relief, Hayes shifted his attention to Frost. The newly promoted sergeant felt his heart tighten as his commander’s vivid hazel-green eyes darkened as they stared into his own gray ones. 

“This isn’t an order,” he said, but Frost felt as though it was, “I want you to talk amongst yourselves and decide if this is something you all want to do. If we cannot destroy this base, the Covenant will most likely discover information leading back to other colonies and possibly Earth. If that happens, we’ll lose this war. You’ll be on your own without much support. Being overrun is highly probable. And if you can hold out and get on the bird, there is a chance you will be caught in the blast radius if you don’t leave the base’s airspace in time. I’ll give you five minutes to discuss.”

Five minutes, Frost thought to himself as he trudged away from Hayes and Melendez. Five whole minutes to decide whether or not to stay, fight, and most likely die.

The others gathered up in a semicircle around him. Steele stood closest to him, tilting his helmet higher up on his brow as he braced himself against his battle rifle. Maddox flopped down in the sand, leaning back and propping himself up on his arms. Moser knelt and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The others stood by silently, staring at Frost. Their expressions were searching and nervous. It was clear that they didn’t want to discuss it. Everything would be made easier if it was an order, Frost thought.

His eyes fell downwards. The order had to come from him. Teo handed him the responsibility of six lives. Would he volunteer them for a suicidal mission? 

How badly Frost wanted to tell them that he wouldn’t ask them to spend their lives on such a desperate, last ditch effort to carry out some improvised version of the Cole Protocol. His mind wandered for a moment; only a few hours earlier he had driven his men off a cliff into an assault platform that was so large it had shaken the ground. Maybe this was just how it was going to be from now on, one insane task after another. Maybe, staying as close to the edge as possible was the best way to get them out of the war alive.

Perhaps the most infuriating aspect was despite his concern for his friends and the fear clawing into his heart, he was ready and willing to carry it out. Frost would do it, not just to wipe out the local Covenant but protect the Colonies. But his friends’ fatigued faces caused his hesitation. It wasn’t their fault. They were soldiers, and when faced with indecision, it was second nature to look to the leader. He gazed at each face, each set of eyes, trying to hide the struggle within. Eventually, he came to Steele who offered him a tired, gentle smile. Frost smiled back. How he wished to be Steele. The sniper could crack a joke and they’d all merrily walk into any firefight with ridiculous grins plastered to their faces. And he wished to be Teo, who would speak a few words and the men would be willed back into fray, without any fears or doubts.

Frost made his decision, then and there. 

“Well, seeing as how we just face-planted into a Scarab, I think the only way we could top something like that is by riding the wave of a nuclear explosion,” he said.

The others chuckled and their faces lightened up. “Who’s up for it?”

After a moment of searching hesitation, everyone agreed with a nod. Their expressions were a mixture of countless emotions, yet the light remained. Perhaps it was something complex, a strange exhilaration about making a decision towards one’s fate. Maybe it was just the adrenaline. 

Frost nodded. “We do this together. I promise that we’ll all make it. Let’s get it done.”

The squad got to their feet and filed past him. Steele was the last one who passed Frost, and planted a hand on his shoulder.

“I know you’ll see us through,” he said, half-joking, “just make sure you see yourself through too.”

He squeezed Frost’s shoulder, then gave him a reassuring pat, and trotted after the others. Frost turned and followed him. 

As the evacuation effort continued, the squad was ordered to wait and rest. Droves of troops were being withdrawn from the defensive line. It was decided that any remaining vehicles would be left behind. As Melendez had said, time was not in the garrison’s favor. Covenant ground reinforcements arrived and were pressing the attack. They knew the garrison was trying to escape and wanted to annihilate as many as they could. However, Shortsword strategic bombers and Longsword starfighters descended from the mysterious rescue ship and began tearing through Covenant air assets. Not a single Pelican was lost.

While the rest of the garrison was fighting or evacuating, Frost and his men spent the last forty-five minutes squatting inside a sandbag redoubt. MRE’s and water were passed out once more. Everyone was quiet and were absorbed in some small activity. Last-minute weapon checks, reading a letter, or finishing off one of their MREs. Grant was eagerly tapping a beat on both of his knees, Moser was holding the crucifix he wore around his neck in his palm as he mouthed a prayer, and Steele was tracing the image of a scantily clad woman in the sand.

“Guess who that is?” he asked Frost, pointing at his art piece. 

“Michelle Clarkson,” Frost answered tiredly. 

“How did you-”

“It’s always Michelle Clarkson.”

Michelle Clarkson was an actress who starred in several films over the past two years. Like most films the Marines were used to seeing, they were action-dramas depicting grand battles that took place over the course of the war. More or less, the movies were propaganda to help keep spirits up on the homefront. Even the film industry was not beyond ONI Section Two’s reach; even the Marines knew that. But they still enjoyed seeing them, even if just to laugh. 

Frost shook his head. “She has ten years on you, brother. Can’t see why you’re interested.”

“Who cares?” Steele replied. “Even if she was twenty years older I’d still bury my face in that rack of hers.”

“Yeah, she had to give up two things for tits like that,” Knight joked, “brains for the left one and personality for the other.”

“And any acting skills for her ass,” Grant added, “for God’s sake man, she’s one of the shittiest actresses ever. What was that one film she was in we saw last month? ‘Come Home to Me,’ or some garbage like that?”

“It was called ‘Homecoming,’ I think,” Bishop piped up as he took a drag on a cigarette. 

“Yeah, that was it. She was standing there on the porch of this house, right? She’s supposed to be like this southern belle and her boyfriend or fiancé is leaving to join the Marines. And she stands on the porch while he’s walking away and she’s all like, ‘Promise me that you’ll come back!’ and turned on the fake waterworks!”

Grant pretended to sob and talk like Clarkson in the film, putting a southern twist to his American accent that made everyone laugh. “And then the guy turns around and is like, ‘I love you baby, watch over our kids,’ and blah, blah, blah.”

“I think Grant’s going to become a movie critic after the war,” Moser joked. 

“Oh I would never, I grew up in California and went everywhere. Every time I turn a corner there was  _ some _ billboard  _ somewhere _ , advertising another stupid war flick. If I never have to watch one again I’ll die a happy man.”

Frost remained quiet. Grant had the right of it; each movie had the same generic plot with subpar writing and atrocious acting in it. More aggravating was the fact that they were insulting misrepresentations of the truth. Then again, Frost couldn’t blame them. They hadn’t had to fight on the frontlines, hadn’t had to track Covenant for a month through swamps and woodlands, hadn’t had to watch entire planets burn. More so, they had never had to tear themselves away from their families, make promises that seemed as though they would never be fulfilled, never had to leave their homes and be sent across the stars to fight on some world with a strange name.

“There’s no chance in Hell that they’ll ever make a movie about what it’s really like,” Frost said. The others ceased their chatter and turned to look at him. He tapped his finger against his knee, thinking, then added, “The only way they’ll ever be able to do it is if they come out here and pick up a rifle.”

“That’ll be the day,” Bishop grunted, “when’s the last time you saw a combat cameraman?”

Silence fell on the group, but only for a moment. Steele coughed and said.

“At least she’s got great tits and a big ass. Doesn’t that make it worth sitting through?”

“Maybe if you ask real nice when we go home, she’ll go on a date with you,” Moser teased. 

“Date? Bugger that, mate, I’ll have her bent over and begging for more before you can blink!”

“The blink of an eye? Isn’t that how long you last in bed, mate?” Bishop cracked. 

The men laughed raggedly, save for Frost and Moser, who only smiled. Frost lowered his gaze back down to his rifle. His sister Sadie lingered in his mind, a ghost from his memory, fixated as if she were in a picture. Her voice, her face, everything about her haunted him. Every recollection about his family did, but out of all of them, Sadie plagued him the worst. That day he left their home still ate away at him. Frost wondered, bitterly, how a movie could capture what it was like to turn one’s back on their sister and their home, and leave for war? How could some director or producer put that gut-wrenching feeling, that self-loathing, on the silver screen? There was no possible way a cinematographer could convey the hardship of not seeing a single family member for seven years, and that every action a Marine performed, no matter how terrible, was to get back to them. Frost’s head sunk. What would Sadie say if she knew what he was about to do? What would she make of his rationalization? 

She’ll probably think I’ve lost my mind, Frost thought. Maybe only a madman could believe that being on the verge of danger was the best way to stay alive. 

“Hey, Frost, you okay?” 

Frost looked up to see all of his companions staring at him warily. He looked at all of them, semi-shocked from being broken from his trance. He followed their eyes and saw that his hands were wrung tightly together, resting on his battle rifle. 

He cleared his throat and shrugged. 

“Just wondering how we always end up talking about something stupid before a battle.”

“Stupid!?” Steele said, mocking outrage, “Michelle Clarkson is  _ not _ a stupid topic!”

Everyone snickered until Hayes walked up. He pointed up a descending Pelican. 

“The package is here.”


	7. Ambition's End, Pt. 2

Sand billowed out from under the Pelican as it touched down. Its engines flared and died as the Marines approached. Frost followed Hayes, but looked over his shoulder to see his squad assembled behind him. When the Colonel came to an abrupt halt a few paces away from the dropship. All watched as the rear hatch opened and the ramp lowered. A team of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, clad in olive-gray battle armor and sleek helmets, marched down the ramp. One was carrying a large, metaled case. The lead ODST approached Hayes and the visor depolarized, revealing a blue-eyed man with stubble on his pale cheeks.

“Major Rutger Holst,” he said and saluted. “Commanding officer, 19th ODST Battalion.”

“Colonel Avraam Hayes, commanding officer 89th Marine Regiment.” He followed up with a salute and then both officers dropped their arms. “I heard you brought us a present.”

Major Holst smiled.

“One Mike-Foxtrot-Delta-Delta. Sorry that we didn’t have time to wrap it.”

The trooper carrying the MFDD came forward. He sank to one knee, laid the case on its side, and flipped the lid open. Within was an egg-shaped metallic object, with a wide, round bottom and a bulky but smaller cylindrical upper section. On its side was a handle and on the center there was a black touchscreen with nine yellowed digital keys. There were nine keys in three by three rows, consisting of six numbers and three letters. 

Frost and the team gathered around and stared down at the miniature nuclear device. Sitting there in its case, the MFDD seemed almost harmless.

“Do you know how to operate one of these things?” the Major asked, turning to the Marines.

“Yes, sir,” Frost said firmly, “we’ve all had a basic run through during training.”

The Major stared at him for a few moments, then said to Hayes.

“Maybe my ODSTs and I should handle this. These devil dogs look tired.”

His voice, although even, possessed a hint of smugness.

“I assure you,” Hayes said diplomatically, “my Marines are up to the task. You can stay and help hold the line, or you can get back onto that Pelican.” 

Major Holst and the Marines shared sour glares as artillery thundered around them. The staredown was interrupted by one of the ODSTs, who approached Holst and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Major,” she said, her voice accented similarly to his, “they volunteered. I don’t think they would have if they didn’t know what they were getting into. I think we’d be more useful on the line anyhow, seeing as these troopers are being diverted.”

Holst looked at the ODST for a moment, then nodded.

“We’ll hold the line. You just make sure you deliver the package. The arming code is seven, five, two. You’ll have a five minute countdown. I’d advise you to be far away from it unless you want to get roasted.” 

With that, the ODSTs marched off, toting their distinctive M7S submachine guns. The second in command lingered for a moment, looking at the Marines. She seemed to have something to say, but instead chose only to nod and followed the rest. 

“Wanker,” Maddox spat, staring at Major Holst’s back.

“Lock it up,” Hayes cut in, “Frost, you know what to do. Get to the HQ building and meet with Lieutenant Daramy.”

The pair shook hands, and Hayes pulled Frost close, “I’ll see you in the Pelican bay of that cruiser. Semper Fi.”

Frost clutched the MFDD by the handle with his left hand as the team jogged down the ramshackle defensive line. Confidence returned to the Covenant ranks and they were advancing slowly. Instead of suicide charges with Grunts, Elites and Skirmishers darted from cover to cover. From the stretch of rubble where the main gate once stood, Covenant turrets raked the line with light blue plasma. Concussions from fuel rod guns sent sandbags and other debris flying through the air. 

More Marines and soldiers were peeling away from the line, scrambling into the Pelicans. Hornets and Falcons continued to provide close air support and kept the Covenant flow from washing over the thinning UNSC line.

The rectangular headquarters building sat as the anchor to line, with sandbags, steel barricades, Hesco bastions, and jersey barriers, leading right up to its entrance. Originally four stories tall, the top floor and the roof had been destroyed. All of the radar dishes and antennas were gone.

The squad made it to the doorway and paused. Marines and Army troopers were withdrawing from the building. Some hefted crates of equipment, others carried wounded comrades or the dead. One haggard soldier after another raced out, until an officer appeared.

“You the demo team?” he asked

“Yes, sir!” Frost answered.

“Lieutenant Daramy,” said the officer and he shook Frost’s hand. “Colonel Melendez filled me in; I’m the last man out, so you don’t need to worry about anybody in the building getting left behind. I think you’re damned nuts for doing this.”

“We wouldn’t be in the Marines if we weren’t nuts, sir!” Frost replied gallantly. The junior officer just laughed and shook his head. Then, he unclipped a bandolier of shotgun shells and handed them to Frost, as well as his shotgun. 

“You may need this. We left you more ammunition and grenades on the third floor.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The officer bumped his fist against Frost’s breastplate.

“Give’em hell, leatherneck.”

With that, Daramy ran after his men, and Frost led his squad into the building. Inside, the floor was covered with empty magazines, bullet casings, scattered kits, and rucksacks. There was blood on some of the walls and on the floor. In a few puddles were bits of flesh. Near one window there was a severed arm. Near another were a pair of feet still in their boots. Helmets, ragged gloves, half-destroyed weapons, and plasma burns were everywhere. Dead Covenant Jackals, Skirmishers, and Elites were slumped through windows or were on the floor near the entryways. Desks were overturned, wall-mounted monitors were shattered, electrical equipment was sparking, and terminals were just blackened, burnt-out husks.

“Jesus Christ,” one of the Marines whispered.

“Come on, third floor!” 

Frost led the way and the squad pounded up the staircase. The second floor was just like the second, worse even. As he turned to go up the next flight of stairs, Frost caught a glimpse of an M247 turret mounted on a raised tripod base near one of the windows overlooking the ground in front of the interior line. Before he could get someone to grab it, his men rushed by him. Tossing the weapon one final, uneasy glance, Frost turned and followed.

The squad flew onto the third floor. Frost looked up; on his left he saw that the fourth floor, along with half of the roof, had collapsed. The wreckage of the rooftop formed a slope of rubble, rebar, and metal. Frost stared at it for a few moments while his troopers collected the supplies left for them by Daramy. 

He turned around and grabbed Maddox by the shoulder.

“Take the MFDD and set it down someplace where it won’t be hit by stray fire,” Frost ordered. The combat engineer set his weapon down and took the nuclear weapon, grumbling the entire time. Frost then came to the lowest piece of rubble, and climbed up onto it. It was stable and offered enough room for him to stand comfortably. He scaled to the next one, testing it, and once he was sure it was safe, he clambered up the next. Climbing and scaling, sometimes clawing upwards on all fours, he struggled towards the top. 

“What the hell are you doing, man?” he heard Steele yell. Frost didn’t bother to look down. Soon, he found himself standing on the slim, undamaged section of roof. It was only half a dozen feet wide and just as long, but it did not sag and held firm. Frost didn’t bother to take in the view, he quickly scurried his way back down. When he found himself back on the floor, Steele was in front of him. “Mate, what was the point of that?”

“That’s our exfil” Frost said, pointing upwards. “I’ll radio for the Pelican to extract us up there. I’d rather not fight our way back down this building when the Covenant comes.”

Steele blinked, and then nodded. Frost made sure the others heard the plan as well, then he joined them in organizing their position. From the right of the staircase, they had a relatively open space. There were two long windows to fire down into the Covenant controlled ground. Sandbags lined the wall below the windows and they placed their grenades and magazines on the top of the sandbags for easy access. Expecting the Covenant to try and storm their position, Bishop set up a crate with a dozen fragmentation grenades and extra shotgun shells at the corner of the staircase closest to the windows. He took the extra shotgun provided by Daramy and propped it up against the crate. Maddox took off his ballistic vest and body armor and placed it on and around the MFDD. While the combat engineer situated himself next to the device, Frost and the others lined the windows. 

After taking a steady breath, Frost looked at his Marines. “Make every shot count.”

The ground in front of the final interior line was littered with alien corpses, mostly Grunts from the earlier assault. There were piles of them, two, three, four, or even five feet high. Elites were using these piles as cover as they advanced. He could see bullets grazing their shields; they shimmered white but after recharging they blinked and vanished. 

Frost raised his BR55 and peered through the scope. He spotted a sprinting Skirmisher, who dashed forward until it took cover behind a destroyed Warthog. Training the sight on its head, Frost pulled the trigger. The three round burst ripped through the air, struck the Skirmisher’s skull, and it crumpled over. He trained his sights on a runner, fired, and the alien tumbled to the ground. Around him, his squad began hammering away at light targets. Before long, blue and green plasma bolts began showering their position. Expending magazines, the Marines crouched, reloaded, and stood back up to return fire. Below, more Marines and soldiers began pulling away from the interior line. Pelican after Pelican touched down, took on a complement of infantry, and ascended. 

Soon, Frost found that he was burning through his ammunition. As he reached for another magazine, plasma fire pummeled his position. Everyone instinctively ducked, waited for the enemy fire to subside, and then popped back up. 

“We need more firepower,” Frost said, and then remembered what he had seen on the second floor. “Bishop, with me, there’s a M247 on the second floor. Let’s nab it and set it up here.” 

The two Marines bounded down the stairs and located the machine gun. They grabbed a nearby rucksack and stuffed it with ammunition. Heaving it over his shoulder, Frost assisted Bishop in dismounting the weapon. While the stocky Scotsman took the machine gun, Frost carried the tripod. Turning around, they hurried up the stairs. When they wer almost at the top of the stairs, they heard Melendez’s voice over the communication link. 

“Net call, net call, this is Whiskey Six. All call signs, evacuate, evacuate, evacuate!” He repeated the command several times before cutting the channel. Just as Frost and Bishop reached the top, the former went to the window. Below, he saw all remaining UNSC personnel flood back from the interior line into a small fleet of Pelicans. 

“Charlie Red One,” Hayes voice called over a separate communication link, “this is it! Standby for activation!” 

“Roger! Send the Pelican to the rooftop for exfil!”

“Solid copy, wait one.”

Frost rallied his men. 

“Okay guys, get ready to bolt! Knight help with this gun, Bishop cover the stairs, Maddox, get ready to arm the nuke! Once that thing’s primed, we’re going up to the roof. Make yourselves light, boys.”

Bishop and Knight wrestled the M247 over to the window and mounted the weapon onto the tripod. As they did, the men began dumping excess equipment they wouldn’t need for their escape. Frost went over to Steele, who was holding his M6C. The sniper was looking out the window. When he joined him, Frost's eyes widened. A horde of Covenant swarmed over the rubble and the sea of dead bodies. Watching hundreds of Elites, Skirmishers, and Grunts rush forward with a tremendous, distorted war cry, brought the entire squad to the window. From where the squad was, they could not see where the Pelicans were. 

Frost snapped them from their stupor. “Open fire! Open fire! Cover the Pelicans!”

Knight jumped on the M247 and began firing in long bursts into the crowds of aliens. Hundreds dropped as the squad fired indiscriminately into the mob. Piles of bodies grew into hills at the barrel of the M247. Frost pulled the trigger as fast as he could, draining the BR55’s thirty-six round magazine. They lobbed M9 fragmentation grenades as far as they could and watched as dozens of Grunts were thrown about from the detonations. Even as plasma flickered through the windows and past their heads, the Marines kept firing. The Covenant pressed forward and overran the barricade, now devoid of any human defenders. 

The Marines ducked down to reload. Sounds of guttural, alien voices came from below. 

“They’re inside the HQ,” Bishop said calmly over his shoulder. He was crouched at the corner, shotgun aimed down the stairs.

“Everyone get back from the windows,” Frost ordered, “everyone stay back from the stairs. Bishop and I will cover. Grant, give me your MA5.”

Grant tossed Frost his MA5B and a bandolier while Frost gave him his battle rifle and ammunition. He then went to the other corner of the staircase and aimed down his sights. He could hear the heavy footfalls of Elites, the quick bounding of the Skirmishers, and the patter of Grunts. They were clearing every inch of the building, ensuring they wouldn’t be ambushed. Frost felt sweat rolling down his face. He gripped his assault rifle tightly, and his eyes kept darting over to Maddox and the MFDD. Hayes hadn’t radioed yet. The garrison was still evacuating, as far as he knew. 

As he began to look over at the MFDD again, he saw a Skirmisher appear at the bottom of the stairs. He looked back, raised his rifle, and peppered the alien with a half a magazine’s worth of bullets. The Skirmisher, riddled with rounds, slumped out of view. Squawking, barks, and roars were heard below. Frost pointed at Knight and Moser. “Get some frags ready.”

Looking back, he saw a Skirmisher peering around the corner. Bishop fired several slugs, which slammed against the corner where the Skirmish was. Gray dust and chips of concrete scattered in the stairwell. When it cleared, the body of the second Skirmisher fell forwards. A few seconds passed. There were no sounds from below. Frost’s adrenaline pumped, his heart pounded in his chest. He could feel his legs shaking. 

A pair of Skirmishers rolled out from the corner on the stairwell and fired up at the Marines. Frost and Bishop took cover. “Frags!”

Moser and Knight lobbed the grenades in their hands down the stairwell.

“Fire in the hole!” There was a great deal of shrieking before the explosives went off simultaneously. The screeching stopped after that. Frost glanced around the corner. He heard nothing. Then, his earpiece erupted.

“Chalre Red One, arm the MFDD now! The Pelican is en route!” 

“Maddox!” Frost hollered, “Seven-five-two!”

The combat engineer punched in the code. Frost saw the screen turn red, and the words, ‘DEVICE ARMED,’ appeared. 

Frost unclipped a grenade from his vest, pulled the pin, and chucked it down the stairwell for good measure. “We’re pulling out, get onto the roof!”

Practically flinging himself against the rubble, Frost led the way up. The others hurried behind him, mimicking his every move. Each of the seven Marines ambled their way up and in a heartbeat, found themselves at the top. 

At the top, Frost saw the Pelicans blaze into the sky. When he looked back down, all he could see throughout the compound were exultant aliens. Streaming around and into buildings like floodwater, they overtook every inch of Alpha Base. Vehicles, equipment, redoubts, tents, bodies, everything disappeared as they steamrolled through. 

“Where the bloody hell is the Pelican?” cried Steele. 

Frost scanned the sky and soon spotted the bulky dropship coming towards them from above at a fast rate. 

“Charlie Red One, this is Yankee Triple-Seven. I’m coming right for you. Be ready to jump, over!” the pilot yelled. 

“Roger, Yankee Triple-Seven!” Frost replied. 

The Pelican leveled out and began flying directly towards the Marines. When it was about a hundred yards away, the Pelican banked and turned one hundred-eighty degrees, with the rear facing them. It slowed down and covered the last few yards stern first. Frost could see inside the Pelican, dark save for a red light inside. The crew chief waved frantically. 

“Everybody in!” Frost shouted, turning to look at his men. But from a the ramparts of the adjacent compound wall, Frost saw two, massive, green bolts soaring through the air towards them. 

Frost turned back to the Pelican “Incoming! Wave off, wave off!” 

The Pelican immediately banked right and flew upwards. Steele was on the roof’s edge, about to jump for the Pelican, but Frost pulled him back mid-stride. They both stumbled backwards and fell back down the way they had come, taking several of their comrades with them. Those who remained jumped back down as the green bolts crackled by, narrowly missing them.

Amidst many curses and grunts of pain, the squad slid down the wreckage. Grant, Moser and Maddox managed to jump and grab hold of rebar or gain a footing in a pile of concrete Bishop and Knight were knocked back along with Steele and Frost. While Knight managed to get caught on some rubble, Frost, Steele, and Bishop fell the total fifteen feet back down the wreckage, bumping into every piece of concrete and metal supports along the way. Frost felt his right foot get stuck in a crevice just before he hit the floor; there was a painful jerk in his ankle as he landed on his stomach.

Gritting his teeth, he gingerly removed his foot from the crevice. “Shit...” he groaned angrily. Pain simultaneously shot up into his calf and flooded into his foot. Picking himself up, he looked at Steele. The sniper landed on his back but avoided getting caught in the wreckage. Bishop fell on his stomach, sparing his back from pain but knocking the wind from hsi chest.

“So much for that plan,” Steele wheezed.

The others climbed down and began to assist them. Moser knelt in front of him.

“Right ankle,” Frost hissed.

Moser felt it with both hands, squeezing and applying pressure. “Is it broke?” Frost asked.

“No, I think it’s fractured.”

Moser reached into his kit, retrieving a roll of military grade kinesiology tape. He applied some to Frost’s ankle, taping and splinting it while Frost put a finger to his earpiece.

“Charlie Red One, I do _not_ have eyes on you! Charlie Red One, are you receiving!?|

“Carlie Red One here. We’re here, Yankee Triple Seven. Come back around for exfil.”

“Negative, Charlie Red One. I’m getting shot to pieces if I exceed my current altitude. Searching for an alternative LZ. Wait one.”

“Fucking hell, he better not say we have to fight our way out of this bloody deathtrap,” Steele muttered. 

A moment later, the pilot’s heavily accented voice returned. 

“Charlie Red One, I have eyes on a PT track across from your current position. Do you have a visual?”

“Wait one.” Frost got to his feet, groaning, and made his way over to the window. The Covenant were everywhere, but he spotted one area that was clear. Across the field was the PT track. The orange colored track was a long rectangle with rounded edges. On the inside of the track, there was a wide, open space of flat sand. Barely any Covenant were present on the track. 

Frost slid beneath the window. “I have eyes on the track, over.”

“That’s our only option, Charlie Red One. We’ll stay out of Covenant AA range. Hail me when you’re ready. We only have one shot at this. Over.”

“Solid copy, out,” Frost fumed. He switched channels, “Colonel Hayes, our original exfil point was compromised. We’re moving to a second exfil point over on the PT track. We need air support, do you have anything?”

“Wait one.”

Frost turned to the others, explained the plan, and the group moved down the stairwell. Steele offered to help but Frost ushered him on. He was the last man down, and before he headed down the stairs, Frost saw the timer on the MFDD. They only had a little over two minutes.

The HQ was clear, the grenades having wiped out all of the Covenant that had entered. Their mangled bodies littered the bottom of the stairwell. The squad flew down the remaining stairs and found themselves at the exit. 

Frost went to the corner and looked out. The way was mostly clear; the Covenant were too busy ransacking the other buildings, but they were still everywhere. Just before Frost was about to radio Hayes again, the Colonel’s voice filled his earpiece. “I’ve got a stack of bombers flying low and fast towards the base.” Hayes responded.

“Have them dump their ordinance on the largest group of Covenant they see and we’ll make our run over to the Pelican.”

Ten seconds passed, then twenty. The Marines began to fidget and squirm.

“Fuck, what’s taking them?”

“We’re going to get blown away!” 

“There is a fucking nuclear bomb right above us!” 

“Shut the fuck up, find your balls, and act like Marines!” Frost hissed as he heard the tell-tale sounds of incoming B-65 Shortswords. He looked out of the doorway and saw three aircraft in a wedge formation flying so fast over the base they were like a blur. Black, metallic objects fluttered down from their bellies and fell into the main force of the Covenant. Orange explosions billowed upwards among the throngs of aliens. Three long streaks of fire split the Covenant apart, engulfing hundreds and dispersing the survivors. From the twisting, curling flames staggered aliens of all kinds, flailing and screaming. Their armor burned away and their flesh turned black.

“Yankee Triple Seven, requesting immediate extract! Over!”

“Solid copy, Charlie Red One!”

“Go, go, go!” Frost shouted, waving his hand towards the track. The Marines broke into a sprint, with Frost bringing up the rear. His ankle burned with pain but he kept pace, bounding with the others. He had never run so fast in all his life. The few Grunts that remained around them were ignored, as they fled at the first sight of seven armed Marines. A pair of Skirmishers were directly ahead, but met their end in a hail of gunfire before they could raise their weapons.

The Pelican appeared and quickly descended to the center of the track as the Marines crossed over the edge of the course. Frost saw once more the dark haven of the Pelican’s interior, the red light, and the crew chief waving. 

A moment later, he found himself climbing inside the dropship as it took off. 

_“Fucking gun it!”_ Steele hollered. The Marines fell to the floor or the benches as the Pelican accelerated. The rear hatch shut and Frost peered through its window. Already they were breaking through the clouds and the base was growing smaller and smaller.

There was a bright flash. A massive shockwave blossomed along the earth, taking with it a massive dust cloud. An enormous ball of fire rose upwards and upwards, followed by a column of thick, gray smoke rising thousands of feet up. The Pelican rocked, and the Marines were tossed around the interior for a few moments. When Frost regained his balance, he looked back out the window. All that was left was a grayish-tan smoke cloud in the shape of a mushroom. The base, or rather where it had once stood, was covered in a shroud of dust and smoke. 

Frost found a seat on the bench closest to the door and stared at his grime-coated boots, panting. That was all the sound to be heard, the heavy, burdened breath of the squad. Each man picked himself up from the floor and sat on the bench. They all slumped back, their heads hanging with exhaustion. 

His heartbeat was still racing. Frost looked to his left. Steele had sat down beside him. The Englishman took off his helmet and wiped his forehead.

“You good, bruv?” he asked.

Frost nodded, then looked up.

“Is everyone alright?”

All of the Marines responded with a quick nod, weak wave, or a grunt.

Frost leaned forward a bit, and tapped the crew chief, “You good?” The crew chief gave him a thumbs up. 

“You guys all set up there?” Frost called up to the pilots. 

“Squared away,” the pilot said, poking his head around the corner. 

“Thanks for coming to get us Triple-Seven,” Frost replied. The pilot grinned. 

“You’ll have to find yourself another ride next time, Charlie Red One, because there’s no chance I’m doing that again.”

Everyone chuckled a little, then broke into a loud bout of laughter.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe we pulled that off!”

“Man, I thought I was gonna piss myself.”

“I think I did piss myself.”

“How the hell are we ever going to top _that_ one!?”

“I think that’s enough excitement for one day,” Frost said, his adrenaline finally wearing off. He put a finger to his earpiece, “Colonel Hayes, this is Charlie Red One. Mission accomplished.”

***

The dropship swooped into the hangar of the mystery vessel. The rear door and ramp dropped, and Frost led his squad out. They were greeted by a swarm of Marines and Army troopers who reached out and rattled their helmets, shook their hands, and offered all manner of praise. Frost smiled as he pressed his way through the crowd. Emery appeared and socked him endearingly in the shoulder. Lieutenant Daramy also turned up and shook his hand as if he were the President of the UEG. Lieutenant Colonel Melendez had not joined the mass of soldiers, but Frost caught a glimpse of him standing far off among the Pelicans. Even some of the ODSTs showed their faces and congratulated the squad. 

As Frost and the others reached the end of the congregation, Colonel Hayes appeared.

“Well done, I knew you could do it,” he said with the satisfied tone of a father congratulating his son after a successful football game, “I’m proud of you.”

He gripped Frost’s hand tightly. “Damn proud. Teo would be too.”

Hayes stepped back, placed his hands on his hips and gazed at all of the soldiers. “That goes for everybody here. I’m proud of each and every one of you. We might have lost Ambition, but we’re still drawing breath and that’s a victory for the UNSC. You all fought like devils today and we gave the Covenant a good kick in the teeth. And thanks to the Navy, we get to fight another day.”

Marines and G.I’s roared with approval. The squad, dirty and disheveled, remained silent. All Frost wanted to do was head to the medical bay and take care of his many wounds. He still managed to feel proud; they had saved the Army task force, destroyed a Scarab, obliterated the enemy in nuclear fire, and nobody was lost under his command. Maybe Hayes was right; Teo might have been proud if he was still alive. Frost reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved the single dog tag with its chain. He stared at it for a few moments while soldiers cheered and threw their fists up around him. Maybe Teo wouldn’t have been so proud of him for volunteering the men’s lives like that. Frost’s fingers curled around the tag, the chain dangling between his fingers. Victory was always bittersweet.

As the crowd dispersed after Colonel Hayes offered a few more words, he pointed at Frost and his squad, who hadn’t moved from where they were. 

“And you lot, you magnificent seven,” he said, “I plan to pin some medals on your chests. You can’t get away with blowing up a death machine _and_ detonating a nuke without some kind of award.”

“Yes, sir,” Frost answered quietly. Hayes only laughed, paying no heed to the somber tone of Frost’s voice, and walked away. 

“I’d rather just get some chow,” Steele said. Frost turned around, thinking it was the right time to offer a few words of his own to his friends. 

“Sounds like you men have had one rough day.”

Frost turned around. A young Navy officer, clad in gray, approached. Her blonde hair was in a bun and her piercing green eyes seemed wearied, but she offered them a kind smile. “I’m glad to see you all made it,” she said, “my name is Commander Vivian Waters. Welcome to the UNSC _I’m Alone_.” 


	8. Stanger, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several weeks earlier...

Mars wasn’t what Vivian expected. As the transport from Luna descended towards the planet, all she could see was a red and yellow haze surrounding it. It was as if the terraforming that took place in 2080, nearly five centuries earlier, never occurred. But as the small ship entered the atmosphere and broke through the clouds, she saw brown trees, green leaves, grass, bushes, and bodies of dark blue water all surrounding sprawling cityscapes and industrial stations.

The complex she arrived at was situated next to a wide reservoir, shared with two other industrial centers. Beyond these two compounds, more factories stretched past the wavering horizon. The largest of the reservoir-based hubs belonged to the well-known Misriah Armory. Cranes and warehouses populated the eastern shore, constantly moving cargo from dropships, trucks, and even small ferries that went back and forth across the water. Forklifts rolled around and the multitude of workers moved in steady streams like ants moving materials to the post-production lots. All manner of interceptors, fighters, bombers, VTOLs, and dropships were being moved upon long flatbed trailers. Hordes of air and spacecraft sat in neat rows, ready to be shipped off to some distant part of the galaxy. Smokestacks porturded high into the air, belching clouds of white into the air. 

Across from Misriah Armory’s factories was a surface-based shipbuilding yard that looked just like any other one would find on Skopje, Reach, or any starship-productive world. A massive,  _ Valiant _ -class super heavy cruiser sat in the yard’s dock. Heavy tools sparked as engineers moved along the hull.

No matter how many times her attention fell on a clerk or orderly asking for her identification and to input her security clearance at various checkpoints through the Naval Special Warfare Assignment Officers, her gaze always came back to a window where she could see the ship. 

After depositing her belongings with a security officer, she was escorted to a lobby overlooking the yard. Asked to wait, she turned and stared at the starship through the wind. Her emerald green eyes were constantly adjusting from looking at the cruiser and her own reflection. Her skin was becoming more pale, yet still had a hint of some of its natural tan color, with freckles delicately scattered across her cheeks. 

Seeing the young women in the glass, she pondered if this was what a Naval officer was supposed to look like. She recalled visiting home after her graduation from Luna Officer Candidate School. Her parents, brother, and sister had all welcomed her back like she never left. But being there felt different. They all stared at her like she was a drifter. She hadn’t changed, but the entire week they had talked to her like she had. There were no more endearing remarks, no more displays of affection, no joking around or horseplay. No one cried when she left like they did when she departed for OCS and only her younger sister accompanied her to the spaceport. 

Her eyes fell from the starship. The flickering lights of the workers’ tools reminded her too much of Skopje. As a child, on nights she couldn’t fall asleep, she would watch the lights of the shipyards from the window of their seventh story apartment. Sometimes she still felt like that little girl, but perhaps in her family’s eyes, that little girl was gone. 

“Lieutenant Commander Waters?” 

Vivian turned towards the desk standing on the other side of the deserted lobby. Completely devoid of personnel save for the lonely secretary behind the desk, its sterile white washed ambiance was more akin to an operating room. Chairs lined the walls adjacent from the window and a large metal coffee table stood in the center. Magazines ranging from  _ STARS _ to the weekly glamour journals, featuring the going-ons of actors, politicians, athletes, and other celebrities coated the coffee table. 

“Yes?”

“Rear Admiral Travers will see you now. Go right in,” the secretary said quietly, as if they were in a library. She motioned towards the door.  
“Thank you.”

Vivian stood and approached the door, which slid open with a  _ hiss _ and stepped into the office. When the door shut behind her, she snapped to attention. Her heels clicked, her posture straightened, her eyes went straight ahead, and her hand flew up to her forehead in salute. “Lieutenant Commander Vivian Waters, reporting, sir!”

The Rear Admiral was sitting at his desk, gazing over a datapad. His desk was covered with forms and datapads. A mug of coffee sat beside an ashtray, which had a half-smoked cigarillo resting in it with wisps of smoke still slowly ascending into the air. 

Vivan was shocked by the man’s appearance. Wearing an identical dark gray tunic to hers, the Rear Admiral’s was filthy. The upper part of his tunic had food and coffee blotches all over it, and his right sleeve had numerous alcohol stains. The left sleeve was the cleanest, devoid of any impurity. The sleeve, however, was empty, and tied in a knot at the end. It was then Vivian realized he didn’t have a left arm. He had a ragged beard that hid acne scars and thick brown hair that was blasted back. The man didn’t have any appearance of seniority—more of a thirty-year old mountain man.

His dark, muddy brown eyes finally darted upwards as he looked over Vivian. Her uniform was pressed and neat. The left side of her chest was coated with her small ribbon rack and badges. Her dirty blonde hair was tied up into a regulation bun. 

“At ease,” Rear Admiral Travers said. His voice possessed a scratchy rasp. 

Vivian became less rigid and folded her hands behind her back. Half a minute ticked by, and she watched the senior officer mull over the contents of a datapad.

Travers suddenly groaned irritably. “For God’s sake, are you going to sit down or not?”

“What? I mean, yes, sir,” Vivian said, then took the seat in front of his desk. The Rear Admiral aggravatedly tossed the datapad harshly onto his desk with a clatter, and locked eyes on her. He looked extremely annoyed.

“I’m not in the mood for formalities, kid, so why don’t you drop them?” he grumbled, taking the cigarillo back up. He puffed on it once, then seemed to grow momentarily disgusted, and proceeded to grind the stub into the astray. 

“Is something the matter?” Vivian asked.

“Sumthin’ the matter? You’re damn straight! You try flying around the galaxy in a titanium juggernaut blasting alien ships to space dust for a decade only to end up commanding a desk and the only missions you get are looking over files and paperwork,” he grumbled loudly. He turned in his chair and gazed out the large window behind him. After a few moments of silence, his aggravated stare returned to her. “I doubt you’d know anything about that. Been looking at your CSV and you’ve been having a good time, haven’t you?” He grabbed the data pad again, opened a tab, and began scrolling. “Yeah, what an impressive service record  _ already _ . You remind me of when I was just out of OCS. All full of piss and vinegar, ready to take on the enemy, wanting to train, train, train. Get ready, kid, because one day when you’re flying high the Navy’ll shoot you down and laugh. Then, you’ll find out. Now, what do you think about  _ that _ , Lieutenant Commander?”

Vivian pursed her lips and frowned. 

“With respect, I’m rather confused as to why you’ve requested this meeting. If you want to complain about how the Navy made you start steering a desk, then you could go find a pub and chat with the bartender. I, on the other hand, would like to know what my next billet is. Maybe I’m in the wrong office.” 

Travers stared at her for a moment. Vivian felt her heart skip a beat. Then, the senior officer miled a shark-like grin, threw his head back, and laughed loudly. When he finished, his near-sinister smile remained and he leaned forward. He appeared very satisfied.

“Looks like you have a little more salt than I imagined,” he chuckled, “want to smoke?”

“I don’t smoke.”

Rear Admiral Travers nodded as he lit another cigarillo.

“Let’s get down to it then, because I’m sure you’re wondering why I requested you here personally. I was given a list of candidates for an unfilled position,” he began, pulling up another file on his datapad. “Out of all of them, you were the most impressive. High school honor student, graduated a year early. a year early. You signed up for an OCS program that brought you to the academy on Luna. High marks for leadership, strategy, tactics, ship-to-ship warfare, excellent scores for mathematics, engineering, physics, astro-navigation...” He paused but kept scrolling down one of his datapads, examining her data. “Diving school, jump school, and free-fall school. Rifle marksmanship ribbon with sharpshooter device, expert pistol marksmanship ribbon. Navy and Marine Corps Medal for saving the life of a fellow trainee at jump school, a commendation medal and two achievement medals for serving with distinction in the Home Fleet. You’ve been pretty busy.”

He opened another tab and opened a file. “I reached out to the Dean at Luna OCS about you. He said you’ve got a distinct and dynamic understanding of bridge and crew roles. Summed it all up by saying you’re pretty much qualified for any role on a Navy ship. Considering your short but notable service, it’s easy for me to understand why you’ve been promoted on merit alone all the way to your current ranks.”

Vivian could not help but shrug.

“It’s not just merit. I’m not blind to it. Lots of recent graduates are going through the pipeline really fast. Officer casualties are high and they need bodies to replace them.”

Travers set the data pad down and rested his hand on the edge of his desk. 

“Nonetheless,” he said with a jagged smile, “you have the scores, aptitude, and just enough experience to back it up.”

  
  
  


She focused again as Travers took a puff on his cigarillo to end his chortling. “I’m sure a lot of other assignment officers wouldn’t know what to do with you, though. If you’re qualified for any position like your dean said, then just where the hell would they put you?”

“But you do,” Vivian said after a moment’s hesitation. Travers looked at her with an almost bored expression. 

“Just because I hate this job doesn’t mean I’m not good at it. And that’s why when an XO slot opened up on that super heavy cruiser in drydock, I sent for you.”

Vivian blinked.

“Executive Officer?”

“You are hereby promoted to the rank of Commander and you’ll be serving as XO.”

“On that ship, out there in the yard?” She said, still in disbelief, nodding back towards the door leading to the waiting room.

“Yes, that one,” his smirk disappeared, “it’s been going through a series of overhauls and retrofits. What they’re doing out there are some last minute touch ups, just to make sure it’s tip-top. It’s a unique ship, part of a special project HIGHCOM has assigned to me.”

“Unique in what way, sir?”

Travers exhaled deeply. Smoke drifted up from his cigarillo, creating an eerie gray cloud around him. In an instant, the man appeared visibly tired and worn out, as if he had aged half a century in a moment. 

“We’re fighting a defensive war. Most of our offensive operations are planetary, not in orbit. For almost every victory we achieve on the ground we suffer ten defeats. We can’t rely on thousands of disjointed ground wars to win an interstellar conflict. The Navy needs to go back on the offensive and so we’re establishing a new battlegroup under NAVSPECWAR to conduct aggressive combat operations in distant theaters, even in Covenant occupied territory.”

Travers thrusted his burning cigarillo back into the ashtray. Tugging his terminal closer to the edge of the desk, he tapped a few keys. Behind him, the window sealed shut and a monitor descended for a slot in the ceiling. When the screen winked on, it streamed the current tab of his terminal. 

With one click, he opened a file detailing operational goals, battlegroup composition, personnel limits, and other information. Another opened, showing design specifications for the  _ Valiant _ -class super heavy cruiser. 

Travers leaned back, rolled his chair to the side, and pointed up to monitor. “Heavy tonnage combat starships are going to make up this task force. It’s going to use up a lot of resources but the key to this battlegroup will be its firepower. Being able to patrol Outer Colony and Covenant-controlled territory will interrupt their supply lines, communications, and draw away ships they would otherwise use for offensive operations. As well, under NAVSPECWAR the battlegroup can be called upon at any time to deal with special missions or to reinforce a planet. In a way, it’s an on-the-move QRF, something we desperately need in the Outer Colonies at present. What’s more, this ship will have the ability to house nearly an entire regiment of Marines, allowing the ships to switch from orbital operations to planetary support very flexibly.

Travers pointed to the outline of the  _ Valiant _ -class ship. “This will be the flagship.”

“Are there any more details I should be made aware of?” Vivian asked. 

“There are, but seeing as I’ve given you the overview, I’d rather know if you’re game or not for this.”

“I have a choice?”

“I think you’re up to snuff. Do you?” Before Vivian could answer, his brow furrowed and he pointed out quickly. “If you don’t, you’re not getting promoted and you’re n

Vivian’s eyes went from his to the monitor behind him. She settled on the design of the ship. All its specifications, ranging from its tonnage and titanium armor plating to its firepower and speed, were listed beside it. Just by staring at it, she could imagine herself on the bridge overlooking the vast, dark depths of space. She would see more of the galaxy than she ever imagined and she would be doing it with one of the most powerful tools in the UNSC’s arsenal. The moment she joined the Navy this was what she dreamed of: she would be a sword striking deep into the Covenant’s breast. 

Vivian leveled her eyes with Travers’. 

“I’ll accept the position.”

The Rear Admiral’s shark-like grin returned and his eyes seemed to light up. He slammed his hand on the desk approvingly, rattling his coffee mug. He opened the top drawer of his desk, pulled out a small black case, and slid it across to Vivian. She opened it and saw a pair of silver oak leaf pins for her tunic collar. 

“Put those on, and we’ll take a visit to the  _ I’m Alone _ . Introduce you to the Captain and some of the other crew.”

From her collar she took the bronze pins out and quickly replaced them with the silver. 

***

After retrieving her belongings, Vivian boarded a shuttle with the Rear Admiral. It was a short trip, but Vivian was lost for a great deal of time in her mind. 

She wanted to feel proud. Despite the promotion expediency the UNSC military was undergoing, she believed she at least earned the position by her achievements. Barely out of OCS, she held a variety of billets across the prestigious Home Fleet tasked with the defense of Earth. Not only that, she was now under NAVSPECWAR with a newly refitted ship barely seen in fleet composition. With it came a new rank of great responsibility; the Captain’s second, overseeing his command during his absence, monitoring the ship and its crew. So young yet she held a rank equivalent to lieutenant colonel in the other three branches of the UNSC. Who would not feel proud to earn such prestige? 

A scene came to her. Dark, terrifying, she heard screams and gunfire. A flashing light pierced the black, briefly illuminating a ghastly figure and the blood of her friends. Again and again, she saw it. Even when she slept, she saw it. When it came to her, she felt like that scared little teenager cowering in the pantry closet. How long she sat there, quivering and murmuring to herself. Only when the gunfire faded away in the distance did she pluck up the courage to leave. She looked at her friends, touched their blood with her fingers, as if to convince herself she was not in a dream. As she finally tore herself away from their corpses, she followed the trail of bloody boot prints on the floor. The boots of a UNSC Marine rifleman who killed her friends. 

Now she wore the gray uniform of a UNSC Naval officer and found herself in the company of other personnel and Marines. Vivian wondered if her friends would hate her for it if they were still alive. Perhaps not hate; deep as they were in their newfound ideals, they still respected her own. Surely, they could continue to respect them, especially if she put her money where her mouth was and put on the uniform. It was better than just sitting around complaining, waiting to be drafted, or criticizing them without knowing what life was like. Vivian wished she could say her enlistment came purely from idealism, but it was to get away. With her commissioning into the Navy, she thought she could escape the ghosts and the dreams. Home lost its purity and hiding that night from her family for several years hurt her too much. Even if the weight was lifted, the dreams still came.

Still, muddled between the two, was the urge to find the man who killed them. His featured, searing into her memory by the light of his assault rifle’s muzzle flash, were still crisp. Young, pale, stubble on his chin, and his gritted teeth. Never forget; it was impossible not to. Just what she would do when she found him she did not know. But she knew her friends would certainly not despise her for looking. 

“Wake up, Commander!”

Vivian looked over from the window. Rear Admiral Travers was standing at the exit of the shuttle. “Waiting until the war’s over? Get a move on.”

She disembarked and slung the strap of her duffel bag over her shoulder. Her eyes traveled up as she gazed at the massive starship. The  _ I’m Alone _ seemed to stretch for a mile and just as tall. Her silver, titanium battleplate shone in the yellow, orange, red, and white lights of the dry dock. Blocks upon blocks of point defense platforms dotted her hull. All the viewports were shining bright white from the light inside. Her oversized stern, bulky midsection, and small but sleek bow were almost like a work of art. With Pelicans buzzing around the ship, lifts carrying hundreds of workers, and tools sparking and flashing all over, created an aura of mystique around the ship. It almost seemed like a ghost ship, looming out of the darkness behind the thousands of winking lights. 

Vivian’s emerald eyes caught the lights, as if they were sparkling. 

“Yep,” Travers laughed, “I fall in love with her every time I look at her, too. A reinforced crew, an intelligence and science team complement, and accommodations for an ODST battalion and Marine regiment.”

“It’s like a city,” Vivian murmured.

He waved a hand, and they headed towards an elevator. They stepped on and ascended through the steel scaffolding surrounding the hull.

“With all the retrofits, she’s gone from fleet command to multi-purpose, ground support being the primary new asset. We’ve moved some sections of the ship around to facilitate and streamline her troop complements; Marines and ODSTs can right from their barracks to the armory and then the hangars. HEV bay is past the second hangar. Elevators will help cargo and personnel move from the hangars to other decks, that way Marines and crew won’t have to worry about traffic jams. Her Armory’s been expanded to hold some of a regiment’s vehicles.”

The elevator eventually reached a gangway hatch. It stopped with a shudder. Travers stepped through the hatch first. Vivian was right behind him. After following the narrow corridor for a time, they reached the lower deck which ran from the Marine barracks to the hangar. As they walked through the hallways, they found various personnel in different colored uniforms arranging the rooms. Cots and bunks were being installed, as well as lockers, sea chests, and other amenities. 

Briefly, the pair stopped at one room and poked their heads in. Inside, there were six sets of two bed bunks, and one single berth. Each had an olive drab blanket, white sheets, and stark white pillows. Underneath the bunks were two footlockers and a thirteenth was at the foot of the single cot. On the far wall were thirteen lockers and a door leading to a bathroom. With the door open, Vivian could see two sinks, two toilets, and four showers, with two on either side of the bathroom. 

“Comfortable,” she remarked.

“We’ve broken down accommodations for the Marines on the squad level. It’ll help with organization, sanitation, and generally improve living conditions as compared to other ships.

Vivian nodded. 

“Our missions will take us far from friendly ports, so they’ll be spending a lot of time in and out of cryo sleep. This will help them deal with a lack of shore leave.”

“On the other side of the barracks we’ve created a recreational area. Places where they can play games, download books, and socialize. Better than some community centers in the shithole I grew up in,” Travers said with a slight, condescending snicker. 

Ducking back out of the barracks, they continued down the silver-gray corridors. Seamen hurried by on either side, like ants flowing on either side of a rock in their path. Many held data pads, carried equipment, or were carrying out inspections. Officers and enlisted men alike saluted as the Rear Admiral and Commander passed by. There was a great deal of chatter in the air. 

They continued through the recreation area. Everywhere there were tables, bolted to the deck, arrayed in neat rows. Some accommodate up to twelve chairs. Behind them were seating arrangements consisting of couches and chairs; these form square perimeters around tables as well. While they certainly wouldn’t be found in a furniture store, they appeared comfortable and kept up to the drab gray and olive standard of the UNSC. On either side were massive shipboard windows withdrawn in the hull, allowing the occupants to look out. Blast door suites could be closed in front of them during a battle. Beyond was the mess hall, where there were countless rows of hundreds of long tables. Like the recreation room, there were large windows on either side with blast doors. In each corner of the cavernous room was a giant column with the UNSC logo on the face. 

Eventually, they came up to an elevator. Crowding in with a pack of excited ensigns, they rode the life up to the main deck. When the doors opened, the ensigns rushed out. Travers and Vivian waited until they were gone before exiting. 

Travers turned, smield affably, and nodded towards the bow. “I think we should go to the bridge next. After that, we’ll see the armory. I think you’ll be impressed by the firing range.”

“Firing range? On a ship?” Vivian asked, incredulous. 

“ONI Section Three contributed some resources to this program, due in no small part to the UNSC Oversight Committee. Hologram targets, contained ranges for firearms as well as practice grounds for hand-to-hand combat, are the main items drawn from ONI Sec-Three.”

“Do we know which project?”

“Hell if I know.”

Vivian was not surprised by that answer. As they walked, she kept pace with the Rear Admiral. He walked quickly, almost aggressively. Although she matched his speed, Vivian maintained a proper posture. 

“You mentioned a science team, earlier?”

“We installed a lab in engineering, located in the stern. I say  _ science  _ team but it’s a combination of engineers, researchers, and scientists. Their primary mission is to observe the upgrades, mainly the improved reactor and the Cryonics Bay. Oh, that bay’s been enlarged and updated with modern Mark VIII CSC’s, which shouldn’t have to worry about cryo-itch as much. I’ve had it more times than I care to mention and it’s worse than the clap.” Vivian winced. Travers continued. “As a secondary mission, the research team will assist your ONI Sec-One intel team in decrypting and processing any Covenant data you manage to get your hands on.”

“What other kind of upgrades should I be aware of?”

“The hull is composed of your workhorse Titanium-A battle plate, but it’s much thicker. We’ve taken the standard one hundred fifty centimeter hull for  _ Valiant- _ class ships and pushed it to two hundred and fifty. By no means equivalent to the  _ Trafalgar _ but it’ll balance out this ships offensive output and defensive capabilities, with limited impact on speed thanks to the improved reactors. As for weapons, the reactors have been boosted so you’ll be able to fire both MAC’s twice before recharging. Charging should be faster thanks to a more rationalized energy system working in tandem with the reactors. Highly experimental, but they passed trials with flying colors.”

“I didn’t think it was impossible.”

“Those fucking techie’s up in ONI Sec-Three wanted to make the guns fire  _ three  _ times before a recharge. Now  _ that’s  _ impossible, Commander. As for your ammunition tungsten carbide rounds will do the job, lighter and harder-hitting. Piercing damage is the name of the game when it comes to Covenant ships’ shields and armor, and these rounds will take care of that.”

Impressed, Vivian recalled her studies at Luna OCS. Every single blueprint that was available came across her desk. Not once had she seen a ship with such design specifications. 

Travers waved his hand. “I keep talking about the fusion reactors. One primary, two secondaries, uniquely designed to balance power.”

“Obviously experimental,” Vivian remarked. 

“As experimental as it gets, sister,” Travers said in a jaunty tone, smacking her head on the back. It stung and Vivian glared at him from the corner of her eye as she pushed a lock of loose blonde hair behind her ear. “Extra emergency thrusters, two on each side, an extra five thousand point defense blocks, fifteen more Shiva nuclear warheads which gives you one hundred twenty. And you have an overstock of Archer missile pods. This ship has some real teeth.”

Passing tactical and operational suites, they eventually came to the bridge. It was in the shape of a pentagon, complete with two dozen workstations, and the captain’s console in the center. The majority of stations lined the large wind stretching around the bridge’s sides and front. On either side hung large screens, as if they were drapes. Information about other ships in the sector, the drydock, upgrades, and other streams of data, flowed in vertical columns beside images of each item. One of the screens even featured a map of the entire Sol System. Terminal screens glowed blue while the large tactical ones were a faded orange. 

“Officer on deck!” someone shouted. Immediately, all the personnel on the bridge stood up sharply, turned, and saluted. Travers and Vivian saluted. From a chair, a surprisingly thin, aged man with white hair stood up. His forehead was deeply lined and his cheeks were gaunt. Slightly hunched over and with his shoulders drooping, it was a shock to see such a man in a Navy uniform. 

“Rear Admiral Travers,” the eldery captain said, standing as straight as he could as he saluted. “It’s very good to see you, sir.” He walked slowly, quietly, and without any kind of fortitude in his speech. 

“Captain Oswald,” Travers greeted. “This is Commander Vivian Waters. She’s your XO.”

“My Executive Officer?” he said with a few surprised blinks. He looked over at Vivian, shocked by her. It was almost as if he hadn’t noticed her presence. “But she’s so young. She looks younger than my daughter.”

“That may be,” Travers grumbled, “but she’s tough and she’s got one hell of a skillset. She’s new but she’ll do just fine.”

“Well—”

“I think it’s time she met the ship’s AI.”

A hologram flashed into view on a pedestal next to the Captain’s console. 

“Did somebody call for me?” said a dignified voice. 

Vivian stepped forward. The light blue hologram consisted of a man with dark hair that was just beginning to recede and long sideburns. He had a long nose, an oval-shaped face, lips that seemed to smile naturally, and a strong chin. Despite the blue hue of the hologram, Vivian could make out dark blue linen and gold trimmings of his overcoat, tight sailor’s trousers the color of snow, and black leather boots. He stood tall with his head raised. He wore a cutlass on his right side and a pair of flintlock pistols in his belt. Looking closer, Vivian realized he was wearing the uniform of a naval officer from the 19 th century.

“Commander Waters, meet Decatur,” Travers said with a broad grin.

“Decatur? As in—”

“Stephen Decatur, Commodore!” the AI beamed, saluting. “I once served the United States of America’s Navy, but now I sail under the flag of the United Nations Space Command! A pleasure, madam!” 

Vivian slowly looked over to Travers with a bemused expression. The Rear Admiral leaned close and whispered.

“Newly minted Smart AI. When he was created, he took the form of Stephen Decatur. Decided to take his personality too, I guess.”

After a few moments of staring at the AI, Vivian cleared her throat. 

“It’s an honor to meet a distinguished officer such as yourself, Commodore.”

“Why thank you. It’s very rare to get such a compliment from any of these lads all around. Especially that monstrous Admiral Travers!” 

Travers laughed, as did Decatur. The AI continued, “But please, madam, you can simply call me Decatur, if you please.”

“Decatur will help you with everything that there is to be done on this ship, from combat to monitoring the Cryo Bay. We’ve made multiple pedestals all over the ship so he’s easy to access, but you really only need to say his name and he’ll hear it,” the Rear Admiral explained.

“Indeed! I’m never out of earshot” the AI smiled broadly, then winked away.

“Well, there’s more to see. Would you like to take over the tour Captain, or shall I continue?” Travers said, turning to Oswald.

Oswald shook his head slowly.

“Oh, no. I’ll leave Wallace in your capable hands.”

“It’s Waters, sir,” Vivian corrected.

“Hm? Oh, yes, Walters, fine. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve many duties to attend to.”

Travers began walking for the door, but Vivian lingered. She studied Captain Oswald for a few moments after he had retaken his seat. Despite what he had said, he simply sat in his chair, completely immobile. 

“Waters!” Travers hissed. Vivian turned on her heel and followed him back to the elevator.

When the doors slid shut, Travers muttered something under his breath.

“Sir?” Vivian asked.

He sighed and turned to Vivian. His voice became low. 

“Look, Oswald’s a bit of a mixed bag. Had a distinguished record during his early years in the service, but his performance has tanked over the years. Brown-nosing, indecisive, and lazy. Only reason he’s still around is because we need officers and he’s got a few wealthy friends in high places. Look, I’m going to warn you right now: I didn’t choose that man to be the master of this ship.”

“Not to be blunt, Rear Admiral, but why choose him?”

“I didn’t. I’m not sure who, but somebody in HIGHCOM, NAVSPECWAR, or ONI Sec-Three pulled some strings and got him the job. It was out of my hands. Maybe we’ll see some of the tiger in him again, but keep an eye on him. His incompetence has gotten people killed before. Do  _ not  _ let it happen on this ship, Commander.”

“Yes, Rear Admiral.”

Travers seemed to settle down as he sighed. After plucking up, they continued the tour. After seeing the armory, complete with a raised observation deck, shower and locker rooms, classrooms, CQC centers, enclosed ranges, and swathes of weight-lifting and exercise equipment, they went to the stern. There, they saw engineering and the reactors. Engine rooms always pleased Vivian; she loved the steady hum of energy flowing through the ship. The primary reactor was massive but the secondaries were hardly dwarfed. Despite their efforts to meet the science team, the door was locked and they did not want any visitors. Going up to the upper deck, they inspected the intelligence, electronic, and cyberwarfare suits. As the tour drew to its close, Travers brought Vivian to an elevator. 

“All that’s left is Medical. I’ve got a surprise waiting for you there.”

Vivian was puzzled, “A surprise?”

All the Rear Admiral did was smile.


	9. Stranger, Pt. 2

Travers said nothing, leading Vivian down the corridor where the infirmary. Rather than some of the smaller facilities she saw while serving on frigates and destroyers, Vivian saw this was more like a hospital. Titanium bulkheads were tinted white and there was a red cross by every single door. Wards were cavernous, with bolted down cots lining each wall. Triage was large as well and there were dozens upon dozens of operating rooms. Overhead, monitors were mounted on the walls listed times for evaluations, meetings for staff, and the risk of infection for common illnesses that could spread through Navy ships. Medical personnel in white lab coats, scrubs, and standard working uniforms stocked supplies, erected equipment, and checked their systems. 

After going through triage, the medical bays, the surgery wards, they eventually came towards corridors lined with offices. Many were physical evaluation rooms or contained equipment for non-critical treatment. Beyond those were offices for higher ranking medical staff. Each had a placard beside the door with the rank, name, and occupation of the individual who resided in the office. The one Vivian and Travers approached didn’t have one yet. 

Travers offered a sly grin before opening the door. Vivian stepped around him and was stunned to see who was behind the desk. A woman a few years her senior turned to look at her. She had deep tan skin, a mane of black hair with a few golden locks kept in a ponytail, radiant light brown eyes studded with amber, and a tiny nose upon which sat her black-framed glasses. A smile tugged at her small but otherwise full lips.

“Jasmine!” Vivian exclaimed, dropping her duffel bag.

“Viv!”

Without second thought, the two approached each other, embraced tightly, and laughed happily. Even as they parted, they kept their arms on each other’s shoulders. 

“Look at you,” Vivian said, “Lieutenant Commander Ebrahimi. How does that feel?”

“I could ask you the same question,  _ Commander _ ,” Jasmine said

two months since they had seen one another, but it had been much longer for them. 

Vivian poked the tag on Jasmine’s white lab coat, “Dr. Ebrahimi. How does that feel?”

“I could ask you the same, Commander,” Jasmine replied, flicking one of the silver oak leaf pins. 

“I can’t believe it, what are you doing on this ship?”

“Dr. Ebrahimi has been serving on ships throughout the Home Fleet. Her service record is impeccable. I did some extra digging and saw you two roomed together at Luna OCS. I figured a good working relationship between the ship’s XO and chief medical officer would be a boon to the independent nature of this ship’s operations.”

Travers headed towards Jasmine’s desk. He took out his data pad from his tunic pocket, rested it on top of the desk, and began tapping the keys. “Before I go, your quarters are on the same deck as the rest of the commissioned officers. Secondly, all remaining ship personnel will be arriving before the day is out, including your complement of ODSTs. The Marines and other ships in the task force will not be arriving.”

“Today?”

“They’ll not be arriving so much as you have to go pick them up. The Marines selected for this assignment are being deployed to a planet called Ambition in the Rey System. The 89 th Marine Regiment is an crack expedition unit. They’ve been fighting since 2537 and their combat record is stellar. They’re on the carrier UNSC  _ Burnside  _ and the  _ Paris _ -class heavy frigates  _ Lion’s Den  _ and  _ Determined Guardian _ . Both frigates have good records and  _ Burnside _ has one too, although a new captain just took over.”

The Rear Admiral pressed one key and a moment later Vivian’s data pad pinged with a notification. When she looked at it, she saw a file addressed to her entitled ‘Op details.’ Instead of opening it, she looked back up. Travers tucked his data pad back into his pocket and began heading to the door. “Tomorrow, you’ll jump to the planet, rendezvous with the task force, collect the Marines, and then head to Reach. There, you’ll be resupplied and the ships will undergo their own retrofits before you head out on operations. Another task force will reinforce Ambition once you make it to Reach.”

He turned around, leaned on the frame of the automatic doorway, and smiled. “I’ll be waiting for you on Reach. I have full confidence in your capabilities to deal with any complications that arise during this mission.”

For the first time, he stood up straight, clicked his heels together, and saluted. Vivian and Jasmine broke their embrace entirely, stood shoulder to shoulder, and returned the gesture. When he sharply lowered his hand, they both did as well. Then, with a grin and a wave, he departed and the door began to shut behind him. But he whirled around and poked his head back in, forcing the door to slide back. “By the way, you two should take a little time to catch up and settle in. I doubt the Captain needs you the moment.” With that, he disappeared and the door hissed shut. 

Exchanging a glance, the two friends smiled wryly at one another. 

***

After unpacking Vivian’s belongings and personalizing her room as much as Navy quarters allowed, the pair journeyed to the wardroom. A separate contained compartment overlooking the main mess hall, it was styled differently than the gray and silver titanium that characterized most of the  _ I’m Alone.  _ Bulkheads were covered with synthetic wooden paneling complemented by dark oak trim. Lighting was no longer stark white but warm yellow. Even the deck was covered with heavy fabricated wood. When an officer walked on it, they heard the  _ thunk, thunk, thunk  _ reverting through the flooring rather than the  _ clap, clap, clap  _ their feet made on the titanium decking. 

Finding it most deserted, Vivian and Jasmine found a small table tucked in a corner. They made coffee; Vivian took her’s black while Jasmine added a hint of creamer, some sugar, and a small brick of chocolate from a bar she kept in her pocket. 

For the next hour, they sat and discussed their months out of OCS. Like Vivian, Jasmine’s promotions came quickly and she was funneled through the pipeline to the rank of Lieutenant Commander. Over two hundred surgeons, nurses, physicians, technicians, and other Medical Corps personnel were under Jasmine’s command. L

“I’ll still be doing a lot of work myself. I didn’t go to OCS to grow fat behind a desk. I’ve drafted a rough schedule; two days out of the week, I’ll be in surgery. Another two will be general care, the next two administrative, and then I’ll take one day to host classes.”

“Just for remedial training for your staff?”

“Naturally but I’ll be providing advanced care classes to any personnel who are interested. Sister service training can only help the Marines on the ground.”

“I agree. How’s your staff? Are you confident in them?”

“I’ve been on this project for a little longer so I’ve gotten to know them somewhat well. I’m very satisfied with their performance so far and their service records. Rear Admiral Travers even consulted me on candidates for various positions, so we have a mixture of veterans and promising new blood out of OCS.”

“Travers seems like he’s from a different cut,” Vivian said, nodding. Jasmine smiled kindly, seemingly aware of her friend’s intrigue towards the project overseer. 

“I guess those Insurrection-era Navy officers are a different breed. More like privateers than regulars. He doesn’t seem so bad. He granted a lot of agency in my decision-making so far and he even let me personally design my office.”

Vivian didn’t need Jasmine to tell her that. She saw her friend’s personal touch from the two metal bookcases lining the wall adjacent from her desk on the left wall. Each was lined with medical textbooks ranging from different types of injuries and infectious diseases to medical theory and established treatments. Pressed up against the wall on the other side of the desk was a coffee maker, no doubt sent by Jasmine’s parents. In front of her desk was a set of two leather armchairs and a similarly cushioned couch with one armrest. All were bolted to the deck and were seated on an olive drab carpet. 

Even Jasmine’s alloy desk was paneled with synthetic wood. On the right side of her terminal was a stand for her data pad and a printer for hard copy documents kept in a wire basket. Framed holo-stills of her parents were on the other side of her terminal, along with a desk lamp. 

“Wish he gave me that option,” Vivian replied, although her dry tone was false. Jasmine giggled. 

“I’m sure at the Reach shipyards he’ll let you have a few more options. I wanted my office to be comfortable not just for me but for any personnel who visit. We have psychologists and therapists on board, but I’ve been trained in both fields myself so I’ll be able to offer the same services. Longevity is going to be an aspect of our operations and so personnel won’t have the same methods to decompress. Many will rely on us for that kind of support so we need to make it as accessible as possible.”

“How will you fit that into your planned schedule?”

“I’ll have walk-in hours posted during my general days.”

“Makes sense, yeah. I admit I’m concerned about how long we’ll be in between ports but that puts me at ease a bit.”

“I told you those classes would come in handy,” Jasmine said, leaning across the table and smiling smugly. 

Vivian laughed only a little as she traced the top of her mug. Eventually, she looked up and offered a kind smile. 

“I’m really glad you’re here, Jasmine.”

“It’s really great to see you, too.”

“Never thought we’d get to go to war together.”

“Well why don’t we eat something before we do?” Jasmine said jokingly. 

***

The day the  _ I’m Alone  _ left Mars made Vivian’s heart beat twice as fast. Watching from the bridge as the ship ascended from the docks, assisted with dozens of thruster packs, she felt almost weightless despite the artificial gravity. As the blackness of space enveloped them, non-essential crew members went to cryo. Then, with Vivian sitting at her terminal, the ship made its first slipspace jump. 

As the ship proceeded through the alternately glowing and fading golden, blue, and red lights, Vivian marveled. Most of the other bridge staff possessed more experience than her so they were more focused on their stations than anything else. Although she remained as focused as possible, every so often Vivian could not help but look up at the dazzling display of lights. Each time, she was able to rouse herself and return to her work. 

The only one who did not appear to be doing any kind of work was Captain Oswald. Day after day, he remained slumped in at his station and mumbled a few orders every so often. Dozens of times, he was asked to repeat himself by junior officers and even Decatur who appeared at the AI pedestal from time to time. Constantly, the Captain maintained a bored expression and his eyes always seemed half-closed, as if he was about to start napping. Each time Vivian reported for her watch on the bridge, she went directly to him. She noticed that he always seemed to smell as if he was not showering consistently. 

When he wasn’t on the bridge, which became more frequent as the slipspace journey progressed, Vivian was left in charge. Where he went and what he did was unknown to her, but she soon lost interested as extra duties piled up in front of her. But working as a team with the bridge staff lessened these burdens. The navigation officer, Lieutenant Sosa, was a thin Chilean and the only Earthborn officer on the bridge. Three faded, diagonal scars decorated her left she. Bassot was the ranking lieutenant; a stout man with fiery red hair and a deep voice, he manned their weapons station. Koroma was the most junior lieutenant but she had seen more deployments than Vivian outside the Home Fleet. Befitting of her station, communications, she was chatty and sociable. Her short was in regulation dreadlocks rather than the bun most Navy women wore. Finally, there was Tsang in operations, an angular man with a dark sense of humor who rarely brought it to bear. 

Also on the bridge was Lieutenant Delaney, a Lakota who grew up on the Jovian Moon Europa. He was a serious kind of man with raven hair and firm facial features. While not particularly tall like Tsang or robust of muscle like Bassot, he was very calm and diligent. His voice was very solid and commanded attention. He was in charge of the ONI Sec-One intelligence team and worked directly on the bridge rather than the separate chamber reserved for them. 

All five were good officers to Vivian. They were experienced, hardworking, and highly capably in their fields. During the spells in which Oswald was absent from the bridge, Vivian took time to talk to each one in order to gauge their opinion of him. None were positive. Bassot, the most outspoken of them, declared the man was only fit to command a brig from  _ inside  _ a cell. That told Vivian more than she needed to know. All Delany said was, ‘an officer who does not act or refuses to take part in battle should be replaced, forcibly if needed.’ While she appreciated the frank nature of his and the other officers’ responses, she reminded them they needed to keep those kinds of opinions to themselves. The last thing Vivian wanted was for any kind of upstart behavior or tencadies to surface among the rumor mill. 

Besides the bridge staff, a small number of the ONI intelligence operatives, a team of ODSTs, the science team, and key engineers remained out of cryo. Vivian was in communication with most of them, even though the science team only sent reports and didn’t speak a word directly. She diligently updated the logbook and occasionally took some time to tour the ship, inspecting her engine rooms, armories, hangars, and more with Decatur. The AI was more than helpful as he excitedly and diligently delved into the contents of each deck. She appreciated his eagerness and his silly way of talking. 

Seeing the sophisticated power of the ship in its raw forms, compounded by the bridge staff’s scathing views, Vivian became increasingly worried about Captain Oswald. It was not so much he did not seem incapable to command but rather he was uninterested in command. How he was able to progress through a Naval career was unknown to Vivian. But she was fearful he would not properly utilize the capabilities of the ship when the need arose. 

As she often did in OCS, she sought Jasmine who remained out of cryo as well. When Oswald showed his face on the bridge, Vivian would occasionally go to the infirmary. 

Halfway through the ship, they decided to make an in-depth tour of the entire compartment. Vivian walked with her hands folded behind her back while Jasmine read from a data pad.

“Ten bays with oversized capacity for non-critical cases, but these are highly modular and can shift to emergency care in mass casualty situations or protracted battles. Two quarantine labs, one for general illnesses and the second for advanced viruses. Two pharmacies so any personnel can pick up over-the-counter medication or prescriptions. We even have compounding equipment so we can manufacture basic medication as well. Here, I have a list of what we stock.”

Vivian took the data pad and read through the content pages. 

“There’s a few things in there I didn’t expect.”

“Our pharmacies are also acting as secondary storage for medical supplies. Travers wanted us to have ample stores. We won’t just be handing out painkillers or potentially addictive medication. All of that a crew member has to have a prescription and has to go through the proper screening for it.”

“I haven’t gone through all of the crew’s CSV’s yet but I haven’t seen anyone with substance abuse issues.”

“Travers hand-picked the vast majority of the crew. I’ve gone through a lot and we seem to have a great deal of spotless records.”

“Still, the Marines aren’t handpicked. We don’t know what their personal records are like. Even then, we may not be able to rely on their CSV’s entirely.”

Jasmine did not bristle but she seemed to stiffen. 

“Viv, you sure that’s Commander Waters talking? Or is that someone else.”

All Vivian could do was sigh. 

“Anything else in the infirmary worth noting?”

“We have a pair of isolation bays divided into twelve rooms with capacities of four. Then we have the ICU’s and cabins for long-term care patients. Two radiology labs and plenty of examination rooms for your basic physicals and consultation. We also have a robotic prosthetics unit and a flash-cloning lab. 

“The  _ I’m Alone’s  _ been really fleshed out.”

“Self-sufficiency is the name of the game,” Jasmine said, “and with medical facilities like this, we won’t have to dock at ports as often to discharge wounded. But I don’t think you came here just to talk shop. You seem off.”

Vivian smirked a little. Although they lived together for the entirety of OCS, Jasmine had a keen, natural sense for such things.

“Travers gave me a warning about Captain Oswald.”

“That he’s an oaf without a single tactical thought in his head?”

“Basically, yeah. Do you know him?”

“Only for as long as I’ve been on the ship. He seems entirely disinterested with the medical matters and just sort of waved my proposals on without giving any real input. Decentralized command is important for a Navy ship but the captain shouldn’t ignore medical matters.”

“Lives depend on it. It’s like he doesn’t know there’s a war on. I wonder who’s worse, a vainglorious officer trying to grow his ribbon rack or an empty uniform like Oswald.”

The pair walked into Jasmine’s office, which now had a black placard with her information on it. Vivian, now feeling completely private, slumped tiredly onto the therapy couch. Laying on her back, she brought one of her arms over her eyes. She listened to Jasmine moving some things around on her desk.

“Do you have a headache?” asked the doctor, “I can dim the lights.”

“No, it’s fine,” Vivian grumbled. “Nobody has any confidence in the captain, not even me. I’m just not looking forward to justifying his poor decisions and placating the crew’s animosities even if they mirror my own. Soon enough, they’ll be deferring to my judgement and relying on me.”

Jasmine sat down on the chair across from the couch, crossed her legs, and folded her hands in her lap. 

“It’s not always wise to assume but I have to admit, I’ve considered the same thing. It’s an accurate depiction of that kind of event chain. But do you have any qualms about assuming that kind of authority?”

“No. I came into the Navy because I wanted to do something with myself and contribute. If that means a promotion to captain and commanding my own ship, I’ll do it.”

“Command has many pressures. Do you think yourself capable of bearing them.”

Vivian lifted her arm from her eyes and narrowed her gaze at Jasmine. 

“Quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“Psychoanalyzing me, I don’t like it.”

“I’m not psychoanalyzing you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re sitting in your psychoanalysis pose.”

“Oh, c’mon Viv, really?”

Vivian sighed in exasperation, covered her eyes again, and felt Jasmine’s gaze resting on her. 

“Yeah, it is kind of scary. I know I can do it, but I’m not sure it’s something I would enjoy. But that’s not what I’m worried about most. The Captain isn’t rated for this kind of operational status and I’m worried he’s going to waste these resources and more than that make decisions that’ll kill good seamen.”

There was silence for a few minutes. It was a pleasant quiet. The blast shutters on Jasmine’s window were closed but the room was warmly lit. Although the ship had equalized the temperature, it seemed strangely but invitingly warm in the office. 

“You’ll know what to do when the time comes. You just need to keep a clear head, focus on your duties, and not lose sight of the present,” Jasmine finally said. 

Vivian nodded, then recognized the careful tone in Jasmine’s voice. She looked over at her. Jasmine wore a concerned expression and her eyes were knowing. The XO slumped further down on the couch.

“How can you keep sight of the present when the past doesn’t let go?”

“Is it the past that won’t let go, or is it  _ you  _ who won’t let go?” 

Vivian couldn’t answer. Jasmine patiently waited, but when the XO failed to response, she sighed and smiled sadly.

“I say this as your friend, not a doctor or an officer. We’re not not trainees anymore, we have greater tasks ahead of us, and we can’t let anything get in the way of our duty. Nothing, even trauma.”

“Trauma doesn’t just go away, Jas.”

“I wouldn’t be a very good doctor if I believed it did. It’s something you have to work through. It takes time, effort, and communication. How many times did I tell you to see the counselor at OCS? You never went.”

“I can’t talk to strangers.”

“You talked to me about it on the first night we met.”

“That was different.” Vivian lowered her arm and gazed at the ceiling. “I can manage. I have so far.”

“But for how long?”

“Long enough.”

***

Non-essential staff were woken up prior to the end of the slipspace jump. The thousands of crew members streamed from cryo, donned their uniforms, and began assuming their stations. Although the ship’s systems operated just fine without them, the  _ I’m Alone  _ seemed to get a new breath of life. The hum of myriad machinery and data seemed to grow more vibrant. 

Vivian was on the bridge. This time, she was focused on her station. Different sections within the ship notified her they were operational. Station commanders throughout the  _ I’m Alone  _ reported their readiness. Feedback on systems was green across the board. Diligently, she read through each notification and responded with standing orders. But she glanced over at the captain’s station and saw he was absent. 

“Ma’am, we’re one minute away from exiting slipspace,” Lieutenant Sosa reported.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Vivian pressed a button on her station linking to the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ intercom. “Now here this, we are less than one minute out from exiting slipspace.” When she released the button, she turned to Decatur’s pedestal next to the captain’s terminal. “Decatur?”

In a flash, the blue hologram appeared. The AI doffed his cap and bowed. 

“How may I be of assistance, ma’am?”

“Start a countdown and post it to every station on the  _ I’m Alone. _ ”

“Aye, aye, ma’am!” he said, put his hat on, saluted, and vanished. Nearly a second later, a numerical countdown appeared on her screen. Thirty seconds...twenty seconds...ten...five...zero. 

Suddenly, the golden-blue tunnel of light vanished. Once again, Vivian found herself staring at the blackness of space dotted by millions of winking, white stars. For a moment, her eyes adjusted. In the distance, a tiny green-blue planet sat. But relief she did expect flooded her chest as she saw something so familiar to her eyes. 

“Slipspace jump successful!” Decatur declared before Sosa could. 

“I’m sure we wouldn’t be around to know if it failed,” Tsang muttered under his breath. He seemed like he was about to add another quip but his brow furrowed. “Commander Waters, I’m picking up unidentified ships in Ambition’s atmosphere.  _ Burnside _ ,  _ Lion’s Den _ , and  _ Determiend Guardian  _ are in a holding pattern.”

Vivian felt her gut tighten. The chatter across the bridge ceased.

“Lieutnenat Koroma, patch me through to the  _ Burnside _ . Nondirect, send it to the bridge intercom.”

“Right away, ma’am.”

A moment later, a communication scramble occurred and then cleared. 

“This is Captain Hugh of the UNSC  _ Burnside _ ,” answered a haggard voice. “Are you our reinforcements?

“Captain Hugh this is Commander Waters of UNSC  _ I’m Alone _ , and that’s a negative. We have redeployment orders for you and the 89 th  MEU, but we have some mystery vectors in the planet’s atmosphere. Can you give me a sitrep, over?”

“The Covenant are on Ambition.”

Vivian’s eyes widened. The crew began to look at one another and murmur their surprise. Her heartbeat increased and her hands shook.

“I say again,” Captain Hugh said, his voice shaking, “the Covenant are on Ambition. Ground forces have consolidated at Alpha Base and are under siege. There are two light cruiser-class Covenant ships on course for Alpha Base.”

Vivian overcame the shock. Anger boiled. 

“Are you in a position to intercept, over?”

“Interrogative. Enemy ships could be luring us into a trap. I’m not risking any of my ships in case—”

“In case of what, Captain?” Vivian snapped. “Marines are engaged and threatened by orbital bombardment. If you’re in a position to evacuate or assist, you should do so immediately. 

For a few, tense moments, there was silence on the other end of the communication link. 

“I...I...”

Vivian growled.

“Koroma, cut the comms.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

“Tsang, run a scan and acquire those vectors. Send those coordinates to weapons. Bassot, begin charging both MAC’s to fire two rounds each. Sosa, set a course to get us over Ambition at full speed.”

“Yes, ma’am!” all three officers chimed. 

Tsang’s system-wide scans finished and the large monitor screen on the left side lit up with targets. A few yellow horizontal triangle denoted the three friendly ships and their designations. In the center was a hollowed projection of Ambition. On the opposite side were dozens of red triangles, with two in the planet’s atmosphere.

“Ma’am, we have multiple slipspace ruptures,” Tsang said. 

“More Covenant ships entering the system?”

“Negative, ma’am. Looks like Covenant ships are egressing.”

“Assessment?”

“Covenant may have thought we’re a larger force and exited the system to regroup with their own reinforcements.”

“That gives us a tight window for evacuation,” Vivian said, thinking two steps ahead.

Vivian stood with her eyes fixated on the planet.  _ I’m Alone _ started to barrel towards Ambition like a missile. The huge orb grew bigger and bigger. 

All she could think about were the troops on the ground. She had studied numerous battles while at OCS, she knew it was always a desperate fight. The last thing she was going to do was sit idly by while the troops were wiped out.

The door swished open.

“What’s going on, Commander?”

Vivian turned to see the shambling Captain Oswald actually moving with some speed. His tunic was unbuttoned and his belt was undone. His eyes were puffy from sleep. 

“We’ve arrived at Ambition, sir. Ground forces are engaged and we have enemy ships approaching Alpha Base, most likely for a glassing run. I’ve ordered the  _ I’m Alone _ to intercept and engage from orbit.”

Horror crossed Oswald’s face.

“Belay that order!” he cried meekly.

Sosa turned. Her face betrayed no emotion.

“Captain, are you ordering me to stop the ship?”

“Yes!”

“No!” Vivian barked, and turned to the Captain. “Sir, those men are getting slaughtered down there and the captain of the  _ Burnside _ engage. We’re the only ship responding and if we pull off now we’re going to lose several thousand men.”

“And lose our ship in the process?” Oswald whimpered, running his hands down his face. He paced rapidly across the deck, his entire body shaking. “No, no, no!” he kept blubbering, “do not engage, we cannot risk the ship.”

“Sir,” Vivian held out an arm to stop him from pacing, “the mission has changed. We need to engage those ships.”

“Do not engage!” Oswald shouted to Sosa again. Sosa looked at Vivian, who shook her head.

“Keep her on course.” 

“Have you lost your minds!?” Oswald weeped, tears welling in his eyes. “Those Marines are already dead. We need to leave this system, now!”

He turned to Vivian and pointed an accusing finger at her. “I’m the captain of this ship, and I give the orders! You will carry them out or I will have you court martialed for insubordination! We need to jump, now!”

In the chaos of the moment, she found it hard to take the squealing little old man seriously. But Vivian looked at the officers present on the bridge. Their faces were etched with confusion and pressure. She could see none wanted to disengage and retreat from the system. Nobody could stomach leaving the other ships and the Marines to die. She looked over her shoulder at Delaney, whose strained expression repeated what he had said days earlier. 

A thought entered her mind, and she saw her chance.

“Sir, to jump from the system, we need to enact the Cole Protocol.” 

Oswald shook his head.

“There’s no time, get me out of here now!”

Vivian took a step forward.

“Sir, are you refusing to carry out the Cole Protocol?’

“Of course, we need to leave!”

Vivian drew her sidearm.

“Captain Oswald, in violation of the United Nations Space Command Emergency Priority Order 098831A-1 I strip you of your command and place you under arrest by Article JAG 7556-L of UNSC Military Law.”

Captain Oswald stared at her, his mouth agape. The crew’s eyes were wide. 

“You...you can’t...” Oswald began to splutter.

“Lieutenant Delaney, take him to the brig,” Vivian ordered. Delaney came forward, sidearm in hand, and took Oswald by the arm. 

“No! I’m the commander of this ship! I have friends in ONI...and, and the Security Council, and—”

Delaney dragged the Captain through the doors, cutting off his voice as they shut. Vivian holstered her sidearm and turned. The officers all stared at her. She hoped they didn’t see her shaking.

Sosa cleared her throat.

“Shall we stay on course, Commander?”

Vivian nodded after a moment.

“Aye, hold this course.”

She looked at the captain’s chair for a moment, apprehensively, then sat down. Quickly, she adjusted the terminal and accompanying controls to her preference. Then, she reached over, activating the intercom system. “All hands, man your battlestations, prepare for immediate contact.” She let go of the key. “Bassot, give me the MAC charge.”

“Fifty-five percent, we’ll have a full charge in less than one minute.”

“Decatur, funnel some more power from the reactors to guns. I want them online as soon as possible. Will that strain the reactors?”

“Heaven's no, madam!” Decatur said, waving his hand, “we’ve the finest sails in the entire UNSC.”

The  _ I’m Alone _ shuddered as it closed in on Ambition, which was now a huge rock looming in front of them. With each second, however, it soon went under them. Scans were conducted, hull-mounted cameras fed into screens, and soon they saw the two Covenant light cruisers gliding towards Alpha Base. 

“Sosa, halt engines and shift to firing position. 

“Aye, ma’am!”

The  _ I’m Alone _ quickly swung to starboard and was soon pointing directly at the planet. 

“Bassot, transfer your feed to the overhead screen!”

“Aye!”

His imaging appeared, showing two squat red diamonds above the purple Covenant ships. Beside each one was a readout of distance, speed, and ship specifications. Beside it was a readout of the MAC’s charge. Both bars filled and a ‘100%’ appeared at the right ends. “Targets identified, light cruisers!”

“Target the leading cruiser!” Vivian ordered. “Fire at will!”

With a shudder, the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ first MAC gun fired. The golden trail of the MAC round washed over the light cruiser. Its shield flickered away. Bassot fired against and the second round struck the ship. Fires broke out and the hull buckled prior to a massive detonation. 

Bassot stood up at his station, his eyes wide. 

“Ship destroyed, acquiring second target... _ merde _ , come on, come on. Target acquired!”

The third round broke the ship’s shields and the fourth hit its bow. As fire engulfed it, secondary explosions began to billow out from bow to stern. Suddenly, the bow exploded and the aft section of the ship began to plummet to the earth. “Ship destroyed! No further targets!” Bassot cried victoriously. 

Everyone on the bridge cheered. Vivian found herself on her feet and pounded her fist on the dashboard of her station. 

“We got them!” she cried. Vivian flipped the intercom on. “All hands, now here this, the  _ I’m Alone  _ has scored its first two kills!”

She switched to a separate communication link bringing her to the operations chief in the hangar. “Hangar, this is acting captain Commander Waters. Scramble every bird you have and provide CAS for Alpha Base. Provide escorts for Pelicans to begin evacuating troops from the planet. We’re not leaving until everyone is on our ship.”

“Aye, Commander!” came the enthusiastic reply. 

“Koroma, open a communication link with  _ Burnside _ and order them to regroup at our position. They’ll assist in this evacuation effort as well. Patch me into the local UNICOM net when ready.”

“Aye, ma’am.” Her fingers danced across her keyboard. “You’re in, Commander.”

“All UNSC ground forces prepare forces be advised, prepare for evac. We’ve got more enemy ships on the way.”

A gruff voice filled the link. 

“Roger, drop your Pelicans, we’ll be up there before you know it. Net call, net call, all call signs, it’s time to pack it up and ditch this shithole.”

***

Vivian was conferring with her officers when Jasmine came onto the bridge. The former was relieved to see her.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“The ride was a little bumpy,” Jasmine joked, but to Vivian it was evident she had been shaken. “I heard what happened. I guess it was inevitable.”

“Yes.”

Jasmine offered a smile.

“I suppose it’s more of a relief that it happened sooner than later.”

“I’ll be more relieved when we get those men up here and we egress from the system.”

“Um, commander?” Koroma said slowly, “I just received a transmission from the ground commander. He’s asking if we have a Medium Fusion Destructive Device.”

Vivian blinked.

“What do they need with a nuke?”


	10. Aftermath, Pt. 1

Men were screaming, moaning, and sobbing. Blood was smeared or pooling on the floor. Hastily cut boots and scraps of uniform were everywhere. Nurses, doctors, and even a few of the combat medics streamed up and down the aisle. Walking slowly in between the rows of cots, Jasmine Ebrahimi documented the wounded on her data pad. 

The vast majority of the wounded were Army troopers. All were filthy and bloody. Many were suffering from plasma burned that had scorched, melted, and blackened their flesh. Some had ghastly, twisted wounds where their body super-heated armor fused with their flesh. It was as if an invisible hand had squashed clay between its fingers. No amount of painkillers helped as nurses pried the armor from the soldiers’ flesh. Their screaming soon fell silent as the victims passed out. Between them, there were soldiers without hands, arms, legs, or eyes. 

One soldier Jasmine passed was screaming, holding one of his burned forearms. Tears streamed down his face as his white-knuckle grip squeezed below the burns. It seemed as though he was trying to hold onto it, as if his arm was about to fall off. 

Seeing the reddened, stripped flesh brought pain to her own arm. It became so acute it seemed like it was on fire. Peeling her eyes away from him, she controlled her breathing and focused on her data pad. She documented the wounds and went to the next cot. The right part of another trooper’s chest was blown up by a crystalline shard fired by a Needler. In the seared flesh, she could see his top rib and part of his sternum. He sat, un-moving, expressionless, mouth agape, and tearful eyes wide. Two specialists on either side prepared to treat the wound. 

Quickly, Jasmine entered the information and walked on. Suddenly, she felt air on her chest and it brought pain. Something felt open, exposed, hot, and intensely painful. She had to place her hand on the right part of her chest and apply pressure just to make it go away. 

A third soldier had a hole through both of his cheeks. A Needle round pierced one side and exited the other. Two un-wounded soldiers were holding him down as he writhed while a specialist tried to insert an IV into his exposed forearm. Unable to speak, he merely emitted a series of short, sob-like moans. 

Jasmine shut her eyes, feeling the burn of the sharp crystal in her face. Her gait seemed to slow, as if her legs were slowly becoming stone. For a moment, she stopped. Forcing herself to open her eyes, she looked around at the cots filled with wounded. Each one she looked at, she felt their wounds upon her own flesh. Each dug deep into her. Eventually, she managed to open her eyes and continued walking. 

As she neared the edge of the row, she saw a man sitting quietly and calmly. At first, she thought he was another Army trooper but upon closer inspection she realized he was a Marine. HIs armor was covered with plasma burns, dirt, and soot. His right ankle was taped and splinted. Despite his disheveled appearance and wound, he simply laid back as if he was relaxing on a beach. His eyes were closed hands were folded across his chest. Beside him was his helmet and his gloves. 

For a few moments, she stood there gazing at him. He seemed so out of place, and in the frenzied despair of the medical bay, it was almost amusing. 

“You look awfully at ease for a wounded man,” she said, unable to restrain herself further. 

The Marine opened one eye, gauged her for a moment, then opened the other. 

“Calm is all I can be, in a hellhole like this,” was his answer. 

A nurse came up, but Jasmine waved her away.

“I’ll check his wound.”

“Pardon me, ma’am, but there are more fellas a lot more wounded than I am that could use your attention,” the Marine said politely.

“My staff are doing everything they can and the situation is under control.” Jasmine briefly looked around at her busy personnel and the hordes of wounded soldiers. “Even if it doesn’t look like it. Besides, if we treat you and get you out of here, the space will be freed up for another casualty.”

Jasmine knelt beside the cot and rolled up his pant leg. Carefully, she began removing the splint and tape, followed by his filthy boot and equally dirty sock. Each coat in the medical bay rested on a raised platform just wide enough to hold it. Underneath were storage units containing a wide variety of equipment. Opening one of the units, Jasmine retrieved a hand-held scanner which she promptly held up over his ankle. She turned it on, selected the x-ray feature, and an image of the bone appeared on the screen. “Nondisplaced lateral malleolus fracture.”

“It hurts a lot.”

“We’ll give you some medication in short order. This is a very stable injury. We’ll clean your foot, apply a light cast, and give you a walking boot.”

Jasmine turned off the device and then placed an order on her data pad for a pan, sponge, soap, and water. Only a minute later, an orderly arrived with the equipment. He handed it over and departed. Before she began working, she measured his foot and put in an order for a simple wraparound cast and a boot, all set to his dimensions. Once the order was sent, Jasmine sat on an unused stool and began washing the Marine’s foot.

“You know, you usually have to pay to get this kind of treatment,” the Marine said to her. Jasmine smiled a little. 

“What’s your name, Marine?”

“Corporal Frost. Sergeant actually. I was a team leader for a few tours and I just got bumped to squad leader.”

“Congratulations,” Jasmine said as she dipped the sponge into the soapy water and ran it carefully on the bottom of his foot. When he said nothing further, she looked up. “Is something wrong?” 

“Yes, ma’am. It’s just a promotion I didn’t really want even if I knew it was going to happen eventually and the circumstances of it aren’t...” Here, he chewed his bottom lip and eventually nodded his head to the side. “...aren’t just what I expected or hoped for.”

Jasmine studied him for a moment. He was a few years younger than her, with light brown hair and beard that was just growing thick enough to violate grooming standards. Under his right eye, running along with his left jaw line, vertically on his bottom lip were scars. HIs eyes were an icy gray with scattered shards of blue. with light brown hair and a closely trimmed beard.

“Have you been wounded before?”

“Oh, definitely. But they were much worse.

“I can only imagine,” Jasmine said. 

“This time, though, I did this to myself. I don’t think I qualify for a Purple Heart.”

“Well, I can always fudge the details on my medical evaluation if you want. ‘Sergeant Frost was a hero and while fending off one million Covenant soldiers he hurt his ankle a wee bit.’ That’ll hold, don’t you think?”

Frost laughed a little and offered a very kind smile. When he did, Jasmine noticed a gap; his first premolar, right behind his right canine tooth, was missing. “How’d that happen?” she asked, dipping the sponge into the pan with one hand and pointing at his absent tooth with the other. 

Sergeant Frost raised an eyebrow, then nodded. Two years ago we were on some Outer Colony world. Really mountainous terrain. It _sucked_. We were dug in on the top of a ridge and our fighting holes got overrun by a squad of Elites. I had to fall back to another hote and I had to expose myself to do it. Scrambling across the top, in enfilade, I felt like a damn bug about to be swatted. But before I could get to the hole this Elite pounced on me, fumbled me, and before I could react all I saw was his fist flying towards me.”

To emphasize the point, he made a fist with his own hand, flung it at his mouth, and deliberately missed at the last moment. As his hand flew by his jaw he made a, ‘ka-pow!’ sound. “I thought he knocked out all my teeth but as I fell backwards I saw my toothy flying out of my mouth, just like in a cartoon.”

Jasmine smiled at the very least, although she could not help but be surprised by the young Marine’s cavalier attitude towards an encounter which resulted in his wounding and could have led to his death. But she knew combat troops had different ways of dealing with stress.

“Well,” she began, “the _I’m Alone_ is outfitted for advanced dental care, repair, and surgery. I’m sure we can cast a replacement for you.”

“That’d be swell, ma’am, but I lost my PCM’s contact info,” Frost said, somewhat jokingly. 

“Not a problem. You’ve been reassigned. I’m your PCM now.”

“How come?”

“Because I’m _everyone’s_ PCM. I’m the medical chief on this ship.”

Frost blinked then laughed. 

“Yes, ma’am!” he said and saluted smartly. Jasmine couldn’t help but smile. When she finished cleaning his foot she took a towel out from the storage unit and dried it carefully. When she finished, specialists arrived with the boot and cast. Working together, they began applying the equipment. The whole time, the stench of blood and burned flesh continued to dominate the medical bay to the point it was overpowering. Having performed hundreds of surgeries while in the Home Fleet, ranging from repairing superficial damage from a hangar bay accident or treating a critical casualty transported from the Outer Colonies, Jasmine was able to handle such sights and smells. But the sheer magnitude of it was becoming overwhelming and the urge to vomit was growing. More than that, the despair that permeated the air took root in her and she resisted the temptation to fall into it herself. 

Once everything was on, Jasmine began making small adjustments based on his comfort. 

“You said you did this to yourself?”

“I was in charge of the MFDD team and during our exfil we got nailed by fuel rod cannons. Had to jump back down and I ended up landing badly.

“You were part of that team?” Jasmine asked, surprised. She ceased her work and walked around to the front of the cot, checking the plate for notes. Nothing was written on it; clearly, he didn’t mention it or who ever triaged him was in too much of a rush to transfer their data. Jasmine sat back down on the stool. “Were you in range during the detonation?”

“No, ma’am. The MFDD was in its protective casing the whole time and by the time it detonated we were in orbit. The Pelican was pressurized and sealed. We also went through a decontamination unit when we first got to the medical bay.”

“Still, it may be necessary. I’m sorry to put you through it but screening is very important for your health as well as your squad. Even a small dose can result in radiation poisoning. Get tested, get treated, and you’ll be all set, Sergeant. It’ll be faster than you think.”

“Yes, ma’am. You’re right.”

“Usually they have a CBRN team or SOF forces to deal with those. Marines shouldn’t have had to deal with that kind of ordinance,” Jasmine said, shaking her head. 

“Trust me, now that it’s over and done with, I agree with you. Guess it was all a matter of timing. Either way, I don’t think I’ll be doing that again anytime soon.”

Jasmine finished adjusting the boot and stood up. 

“Do you feel ready to stand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Frost swung his legs out and he sat on the edge of the cot. Jasmine went around to his other side, bent over, and put his arm across her shoulders. Both grunting, he from the pain in his foot and she from his weight, they managed to stand him up. 

“I’m going to let you stand on your own but I’ll be right here if you’re unsteady. Ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jasmine slowly let go of his arm and took a step back. At first, he wobbled a little and Jasmine instinctively reached out to steady him. But after a few minutes he found his balance and made a few short laps in it. 

“Very good. You should go easy on it for about two weeks.”

“I’ll give it my best shot, ma’am.”

“Two weeks,” Jasmine said firmly, holding up two fingers. Frost nodded and smiled.

“Yes, ma’am.”

During the conversation, Jasmine put in an order for non-addictive general painkillers. Soon, they arrived and Frost was able to take the pills orally. As he finished his drink, another Marine walked up. He was as dirty as Frost, had a neatly trimmed mustache, thick blonde hair, and an English accent.

“You alright, mate?”

“I’m all patched up thanks to doctor...?”

“Jasmine.”

“Doctor Jasmine.” Frost turned, stood sharply, and saluted. “Thank you, Doctor Jasmine.”

“I’m glad I was able to help. You’re free to leave but make sure you get further testing at the lab.” She pointed in the direction they needed to go. “You entire squad, Sergeant.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, still saluting. Jasmine finally returned it and their arms dropped. The second Marine picked up Frost’s belongings and then put a hand around Frost. The Sergeant moved along carefully, not quite limping or hobbling. Both men ventured down the aisle between so many wounded men and went through the door. Jasmine took the opportunity to wash her hands at a nearby sanitization station before retrieving her data pad and continuing her rounds.

* * *

Vivian stepped aside as a pair of Marines came out of the medical bay door. One was gingerly walking on his heavily booted foot while the other compensated for his movement. As they passed, they both looked at her and offered a curt, ‘Captain.’ She recognized the two men from the Marine MFDD team. Before she could offer any further words, they were already down the corridor heading to the advanced labs. 

Making a mental note to speak to them later, Vivian took a deep breath and entered the medical bay. Immediately, she was confronted by terrible smells ranging from exposed intestines and blood to burned flesh and charred uniform. An orchestra of pained voices filled the air and assaulted her ears. For a moment she felt discombobulated, unable to grip her five senses. It was like a data stream was suddenly cut off and the processor was struggling to keep it moving. Already, her stomach curdled and she felt sick. Taking shallow breaths, she regained her composure as best she could and walked briskly down the aisle. Before long, she found Jasmine towards the end of the bay, registering more patients into her data pad. 

“Things look really bad in here,” she said as she walked up beside her friend.

“It could have been far worse. We estimate the Army garrison suffered fifty-five percent casualties.” She shook her head. “That’s low compared to other fronts.”

“And the Marines?”

“Less than five percent.”

“The Army took the brunt of it, no doubt.” Vivian looked around apprehensively. Some wounded men cried for their mothers and others for water or medicine. When she looked back at Jasmine, she saw many loose strands of hair from the doctor’s ponytail and sweat glistened on her brow. But she seemed less disturbed than Vivian did. 

The latter inhaled and exhaled again to quash the nausea building up in her belly. “We’ve enacted the Cole Protocol and made a successful slipspace jump,” Vivian told her. “I’m not ordering anybody into cryo just yet. I want to give the ground troops some time to acclimatize, decompress, and relax. Once we’ve ensured we weren’t followed, we’ll jump again to Reach.”

Just saying the name of the largest military stronghold in the entire colony system brought great comfort. The thought of the massive fleet of warships and orbital defense platforms was as relieving as an older sibling backing someone up on the school playground. 

“Are you worried about giving Travers the bad news?” Jasmine asked, stepping closer.

“Travers’ concern was never Ambition. Per our objective, we were able to extract the Marines and rally the other ships. Evacuating the surviving personnel will be secondary to him. As long as we’re operational, we’ll be happy.”

“And Oswald?”

“I’m sure Travers will be more than happy to see him court martialed for cowardice and attempted violation of the Cole Protocol. UNSC might be scraping the bottom of the barrel with its present officer corps, but if there’s one thing they won’t stand for it’s tampering with the Protocol. I goddamn-guarantee-you he’ll be behind bars. With Oswald out of the picture, Travers will finally get a proper commander for the _I’m Alone_ and this entire op.”

Again, Vivian looked at the wounded. “Our priority right now is providing care to these soldiers while we get to Reach, ASAP. If you need anything at all, you tell me and I’ll get it for you.”

“Thanks, Vivian.” Vivian turned and began to head out. “Viv.”

She turned around. Jasmine was looking at her intently. “It wasn’t easy but you made the right call. You saved a lot of lives today.” She gestured with both hands to the rows of wounded on either side of her. “They wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

Unsure of what to say, Vivian smiled and nodded, and then made her way out of the medical bay. Briskly, she made her way out of the infirmary and found one of the ship’s heads in the corridor. Stepping inside the brightly lit room, she saw all the stalls were empty. No one else was inside. Quickly, she walked into the closest stall, keeled over the toilet, and vomited. 

She had been holding it for the last several minutes, unable to keep the urge at bay. Throughout the medical bay were waste basins she could have used. But as the acting captain, she needed to maintain an image of resolve. Appearing weak or squeamish would hamper her authority and, worse still, be an insult to the brave men and women who suffered grievous wounds at the Covenant’s hands. 

After she finished, she spit, flushed, and washed her mouth with water at the sink. She drank a little, washed her hands, and left to make rounds of her own. 

As Vivian walked down the _I’m Alone’s_ long, wide corridors, hordes of crewmen walked by her. There was an air of excitement from having destroyed two enemy ships and escaped without fighting a bitch battle. But mingling with it was nervousness and confusion. It was as if every seaman’s individual adrenaline rush had combined and spread from man to man, almost like a disease. But when they saw her, walking calmly and quietly, they would stop, salute, and appear calmer. Vivian took every single opportunity to talk with the crew, briefing them of their situation, giving them new orders, and commending their splendid efforts. She refused to withhold any details from them about the surface battle and the state of the infantry complement. Even if it was daunting, or made the war all too real for the inexperienced seamen, they seemed to appreciate her frank attitude. They needed it; Captain Oswald cracking immediately under pressure caused a serious blow to morale and the rush gained from the victory would be fleeting. 

Every so often, she would find a team, squad, or larger clots of Marines and Army soldiers who were squatting on the deck or gathered by a bulkhead. These troops weren’t wounded but they were dazed and exhausted. Some were still comprehending their own survival and those with clearer heads simply didn’t know where to go. Even with the directories around at every corner and doorway, the _I’m Alone_ was a massive, cavernous ship and newcomers getting lost was expected. Vivian took the time to encourage them, break their stupors as gently as she could, and personally directed them to the barracks. Many of the troops thanked her profusely, not just for her input but for reducing them from Ambition. A semblance of order overtook the chaos. 

Ascending to Level Five, the top deck of the ship, Vivian made her way to security. Here, the duties usually overseen by Marines were handled by the ODSTs under command of Major Holst. While he was the overall commander of the ODST detachment, his secondary duty on the _I’m Alone_ was security chief. A small team of Navy personnel also assisted with logistical and technological necessities. 

Security was made up of a larger, single facility amidships, just aft of the Intelligence wing. A wide control room complete with data screens, wall-mounted monitors, terminals, and work stations behind an entry checkpoint made up the first chamber. Behind it were various stations under displays of numerous camera feeds throughout the _I’m Alone’s_ interior. Through a door on the right was the brig proper, made up of a dozen separate cells. Ten were individual cells with basic furnishings; a bed, toilet, and sink. Two bigger cells had wall-mounted benches for mass containment. At the end of the corridor was an interrogation chamber. 

One of the security officers, an ODST in mottled gray armor with a helmet, stood up at the checkpoint just to the left of the door. 

“Commander Waters, ma’am!” he said and saluted. Vivian returned it.

“At ease.”

“Are you here to see Major Holst, ma’am?”

“No, I wish to see the prisoner.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He put a finger to his earpiece. “One-Two, this is checkpoint, requesting escort for prisoner visit, over.”

A moment later another ODST exited the corridor on the right. He was dressed similarly to his colleague at the desk but was armed with an M7S.

“Right this way, ma’am.”

The ODST led her back into the corridor. Each cell had a heavy, locked door and a small viewing glass beside it. The mass containment cells had larger windows. At the end of the corridor, two ODSTs stood on either side of the final cell. Both men saluted; Vivian returned it and looked through the window. Oswald sat on the bed, his tunic unbuttoned and his entire figure disheveled. He seemed even smaller than he did before. 

“I’d like to speak to the prisoner in private.”

“Yes, ma’am!” all three ODSTs said and vacated the brig. Once the door sealed shut behind him, Vivian pressed a red key that was on the dashboard of the window. 

“Captain Oswald, can you hear me?” she said, speaking into the built-in microphone. Oswald looked up, stood, and shambled to the window. 

“What do you want, Commander Walters? I’ll have you know, when we reach the authorities you’ll be the one in this cell, not me!”

It was the first he spoke with authority. Vivian remained silent. Visibly upset he was unable to solicit a reaction from her, he continued. “I have friends in the UNSC. Powerful friends who could strip you of your rank. Worse, you could face a court martial for mutiny or if you’re lucky, a quiet dishonorable discharge. All I have to do is snap my fingers!”

Still, Vivian remained silent. Oswald approached the window a little bit more. He was shaking with anger. “What...what if I made you a deal? Yes, a deal!” He spoke skittishly and cupped his hands together like a mouse. “If you let me out right now and keep your mouth shut, I’ll forget what I did. I promise.”

“Sir, you’re not in any position to make a deal,” Vivian finally said. 

“Of course I do, I have powerful friends—”

“No, you don’t,” Vivian interrupted. “Not anymore. As far as I’m concerned, you’re not longer a part of the UNSC Navy. You’ve dishonored yourself, the Navy, this ship, and her crew.”

Oswald trembled where he stood and huffed.

“You can’t speak to me like that, I—”

“Yes I can,” said Vivian, “I just did. You’re in a cell, I’m not. I can speak to you however I wish. And you’ll listen to what I have to say unless you want me to gag and shackle you.”

The aging officer didn’t utter another word. Vivian inhaled sharply, “Why? Why did you even accept this assignment? Were you even given a choice? You had to _know_ we would be going to hot zones all over the Outer Colonies. One way or another, engaging the Covenant fleet would happen. If you didn’t have the mettle for one fight, why did you even bother?” 

Oswald’s look softened, and he sadly went over to cot he had been on and sat down. He seemed to shrink.

“Navy traditions, honor, duty are all a big joke. I never wanted to be an officer but I was forced into OCS by my family. It was expected of me. I graduated at the bottom of my class. When I was finally in by the end of the Insurrection, there was no going back. The battles between us and Innie ships were absolutely terrifying. So many people died. By the time the Covenant showed up, I lost all my nerve. But the Department wasn’t about to let experienced officers out so our commissions were extended indefinitely. I was lucky to have a few friends and family in the Department though; they couldn’t get me out but they managed to assign me to cushy sectors in the Inner Colonies.” 

Here, he wrung his hands together. “I didn’t have to do anything but surf from one post to the next. I suppose they thought this little pet project of Travers’ wasn’t going to come to anything so I was immediately assigned to it when my previous deployment was over. I never even thought it would get greenlighted. When I realized it would actually be conducting combat operations, I couldn’t get out. Maybe there was a way out and I just didn’t see it, or chose not to.” He smiled weakly. “Maybe some youthful ideas about standing on the bridge and winning decisive engagements like Admiral Cole colored my perception.”

He sighed and looked up at Vivian. “I’m a coward. I didn’t want to die. Can you blame me for that?” 

Vivian gritted her teeth. 

“Yes, I can. We were all scared but we did what we had to do. You were willing to let thousands of people, sister servicemen, _die_ to save your own skin. You’re pathetic.”

Oswald glared at her.

“Young lady, I’ve fought before and did my best. I saw so many ships reduced to dust and not a single soul was able to get off. One day, when you’ve seen dozens of ships in flames, corpses drifting through space, and hear the terrified screams on your comm link, you’ll want to run away too.”

“When this war ends, it’ll be because young men and women like the crew of this ship, didn’t run.”

She terminated the link and left the brig. 

***

Vivian arrived on the bridge which was brightly lit by overhead lights and the golden-blue trails of slipspace. All the officers were still at their stations, checking their systems and filing reports. When she stepped up to the captain’s chair, Bassot stood up from his seat. He saluted sharply. 

“Commander Waters,” he said, “I’d just like to say on behalf of everyone present that we think you did the right thing removing Captain Oswald. We’re all willing to testify against him and support you.”

All of the officers stood up as he said this, saluting. 

“If they try to turn this around on you, ma’am, we’ve got your back,” Koroma added. “We all saw what happened. They’ll have to listen to us.”

Vivian’s heart swelled. All stood resolutely, determination in their eyes and firmness to their postures. Their dedication to one another, the _I’m Alone_ , and their duties, came to Vivian like a breath of air. 

“Thank you,” she murmured and cleared her throat. “Let’s not jump to conclusions and I wouldn’t want you to risk your positions by sticking your neck out for me. You all performed ably in a bad situation and saved thousands of lives. I’m proud of each and every one of you. You made the Navy proud today.”

“Thank you, ma’am!” they all said together. 

Vivian saluted them. 

“At ease and return to your stations.”

She took a seat at the captain’s station, read the reports from her staff, and personally checked the _I’m Alone’s_ status. When she was satisfied, she sat back. 

“Decatur, anything to report?”

The AI appeared on the pedestal beside her station. He doffed his hat and held it under his arm. 

“I took the liberty of sending a message to the secondary fleet that was setting sail for Ambition. Luckily, they were still at Reach waiting for the go-ahead to jump.”

“Thank you, Decatur. Anything else?”

“Nothing further to report!”

“That’ll be all, Decatur.”

“Ma’am!” Decatur bowed, put his head back on, and disappeared. Vivian turned her gaze forward, observing the rippling golden-blue lights as they flowed like water around the ship. Everyone was working diligently. Sitting in the chair and without any further work in front of her, Vivian sat back. Soon, her eyelids began to droop. Her own adrenaline was wearing off and she felt exhausted. 

Knowing it would reflect poorly on her if she dozed off in the middle of the bridge, she rose to her feet. 

“Bassot, I’m giving you to the bridge. If anything comes up, have Decatur notify me. I’ll be in my cabin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”


	11. Aftermath, Pt. 2

One might have imagined the executive officer’s cabin on a UNSC Navy starship would have above average furnishings and living conditions compared to others officers’ quarters. Not luxurious, but comfortable. Although larger than the average cabin, there was not much difference between the _I’m Alone’s_ XO chamber and an average line ship. A standard metal dresser was bolted to the bulkhead on the left side of the room, beside the private bathroom. Adjacent from the door was a locker and next to it, Vivian’s personal footlocker. Across the room, next to the entrance, was her desk and private terminal. The cot, suspended from the bulkhead perpendicular to the door, was furnished with an olive drab comforter and white sheets. Beside it was a nightstand with a fixed lamp. 

Vivian didn’t mind it. Compared to some of the confined quarters she stayed in on ships throughout the Home Fleet, it was like a hotel suite. Even if it wasn’t, she was not planning on complaining. She was a Naval officer, an adult at that, and such conditions meant little to her with such responsibility lingering over her head like a rain cloud.

As the door shut behind her, Vivian exhaled as if she had been holding her breath for several hours. After running her hand down her face, she trudged over the bed and slumped onto it. Falling face-first into the pillow, she sighed loudly and then adjusted to a more comfortable position. 

It seemed sleep would come immediately but it was swiftly driven off by a _ding_ from her terminal. Vivian opened an annoyed, emerald eye and glanced at it. A tiny white light at the bottom right corner of the terminal’s frame flashed. 

Rising from the bed as if she was attempting to free herself from quicksand, she plodded over to her desk, pushed the chair aside, and refreshed the monitor. She selected the text bubble notification on the left side of the screen under a series of tabs, which opened a larger field. 

She was surprised to see the message was from Decatur. He was requesting permission to enter. 

“Granted,” Vivian said aloud. Not a moment later, Decatur’s blue hologram appeared on a small projector linked to the terminal’s base. He snapped his heels and saluted. 

“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am!” 

“Is there trouble?” Vivian asked, staring down at him. 

“Not at all, Commander! I, however, feared you felt burdened or otherwise unwell by today’s action, as well as your new capacity aboard the _I’m Alone_ , temporary as it may be!” he said quite assuredly and professionally. “As a fellow Naval officer, I wished to extend some words in the hopes they may quell any doubt or ill feelings you may carry.” 

The entire time he spoke, his blue eyes didn’t meet Vivian’s. It seemed as though he was looking over her head at the ceiling. But when he finished, his eyes finally darted downwards slightly. “Beg your pardon! That is, with your permission.”

Most of Vivian’s interactions were with Dumb AI’s, which lacking the sheer power and capabilities as a Smart AI. While they were still incredible in their own rights, they could not hope to match the latter’s abilities. Furthermore, they didn’t have the colorful personalities she heard many Smart AI’s took on. Not having experienced one before, Vivian was unsure of how to answer. But after taking a little time to think on it, and impressed by Decatur’s holding of himself despite having to wait, she smiled a little. 

Vivian sat down at the desk chair and folded her arms on the edge. 

“Go ahead, Commodore.”

He cleared his throat, which Vivian almost laughed at. 

“In the year 1799, my father ordered me to duel a man who dared to insult our Navy and refused to apologize. Small it was, but glorious too, with great feats behind and waiting for it. Yet, his words did not bother me. But the Navy’s honor was insulted by this individual and that was not to be tolerated by my father. So I met this man to duel with pistols.”

“Did you have to kill him?” Vivian asked.

“He was half in his cups, and no Navy man, so I wounded his leg. With that, the affair was settled and all honor was preserved.”

Long silence prevailed between the Commander and the AI. Eventually, the latter smiled. “There are times when we must act to defend our Navy from those without. Yet, there are times when we must protect it from _within._ Captain Oswald acted cowardly and dishonorably. But your action, as arduous as it was to carry out, saved this ship and our Navy from disgrace.”

Vivian smiled. 

“Thank you, Decatur.”

The AI beamed and bowed. When he stood back up, he stood more at ease. 

“I understand when we return to port, there is to be a new captain. Well, I say, if any in such a process shall consider _this_ old seaman’s own recommendation, I will put your name forth.”

“Why don’t we save that for the brass.”

“As you wish, ma’am! With your leave, I’ll return to my duties with haste!”

“Dismissed, Commodore,” Vivian replied with a polite nod. Decatur bowed, saluted, and then disappeared. 

Still tired but in a far better mood, Vivian went back to her bed. With a smile still tugging at her lips, she took off her tunic and was left in a white tank top. Tugging her hair tie out, her neat bun fell apart. Her dirty blonde locks fell to the middle of her neck. Setting it on the nightstand along with her wristwatch, Vivian finally laid back and rested her hands on her stomach. Taking a long breath, she eventually laughed a little. 

It was one thing to have members of the crew placing their faith in her, she thought, but to have an AI so willing to follow her was a real milestone. 

At that, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

***

When Vivian awoke, she immediately checked her watch. Four hours passed since she managed to sleep. Checking her terminal, she saw no pending messages or requests waiting for her. Feeling as refreshed a person could after only several hours of rest, she was eager to make another round of the _I’m Alone._ First, she undressed, showered briefly, and redressed in fresh attire. Putting her watch back on and tying her hair into a tidy regulation bun, Vivian checked herself in the mirror briefly. Satisfied, she collected her personal data pad and left her quarters. 

First, she checked the bridge. Bassot, Koroma, Tsang, Sosa, and Delaney, were still on watch and refused to be relieved by the next shift of bridge officers. Vivian admired them for their dedication and decided not to make it an order to rest. She stayed for a time to monitor her station, examine engine room reports, and inspect the other officers’ stations. But she did not stay long.

While she held temporary command, Vivian did not plan to spend all her time on the bridge. Many Navy officers remained glued to the bride and much of the doctrine she learned at Luna OCS indicated that’s where the commanding officer was supposed to be. Vivian disagreed entirely. She believed the ship's master was to be everywhere as much as possible and make their face known to every single member of the crew, rather than just a vague facial shape during a speech in the mess hall or a voice through the ship’s intercom. If she stayed there, she would be a ghost, a name that drifted from mouth to mouth as an obscurity rather than a tangible entity, whose only reminder came as the disemboweled intercom voice and occasional text messages via the ship’s system. 

When Vivian finally left the bridge, it was with the intent to find the 89th Marine Regiment’s commanding officer, Colonel Hayes. She was directed to the ship’s mess and found it filled with Marines and soldiers. Many were still in their dirty BDU’s, hunched over a tray of food. Some were so exhausted they had fallen asleep with their heads in front or beside their meal. Others had stripped down to their base fatigues, still worn from the day’s battle. A number were already washed up and dressed in fresher uniforms. Conversation buzzed in the air and the aroma of baking bread, cooking meat, stewing soup, and freshly cut fruit emanated from the galley. Above the long, open counters where Navy, Army, and Marine personnel, all lined up, shuffled along to collect their food were monitors citing the day’s menu.

Most of the tables were filled to capacity. Many of the seamen gave up their seats to the exhausted infantrymen and stood around in small clots with their shipmates.

Vivian observed the crowd, looking for a commanding presence. Eventually, she spotted the tall, broad-chested Colonel passing from one group of Marines to another.

“Colonel Hayes?” she hailed, raising her voice above the bustle as she approached. The senior officer whirled around, smiled wide, and came towards her.

“Commander Waters!” he bellowed. After a brief salute they shook hands; Hayes’ grip was like iron. Vivian did her best not to wince. 

“How are your men, Colonel?”

“Tired. But with some food in their bellies, a wash up, a little rest, they’ll be just fine. Safe to say this isn’t the worst fight we’ve been in.” The big, half-Russian Colonel placed his hands on his hips and surveyed his men. When he finished, he looked back down at Vivian. “I have to hand it to you, Commander, that was some spectacle. Seeing those MAC rounds fall from orbit was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. You really pulled us out of the fire. Damn nice flying.”

“Thank you, Colonel. I only wish we were able to get here sooner.” Vivian said. She felt dwarfed by his presence. He seemed to have so much energy. When he smiled, his whole face seemed to light up and his massive jaw muscles seemed to coil.

Naturally, the two began walking between the mess tables. Hayes continued to have his hands on his hips while Vivian folded hers behind her back. “Sir, could you shed anymore light as to why those other ships were not engaging?”

“All I can tell you is what I heard and what I saw. What I saw was _nothing._ Hugh held his ships on the far side of the planet, minimizing their profile while Covenant ships deployed thousands of troops to the planet. When the light cruisers came to glass Alpha Base, he still didn’t do anything despite having fire superiority. He said he was trying to avoid a potential trap despite the information I was giving him from Ambition’s surface.”

Hayes gritted his teeth, narrowed his eyes, and shook his head. “Anybody could have seen right through it. He was a coward and he was waiting for us to get vaporized so he could retreat from the system.”

“Lot of that going around,” Vivian said in a low tone.

“I heard,” Hayes grunted. 

Before the conversation could continue, they spotted the Army garrison CO. Melendez had changed into a fresh uniform and seemed no worse for wear. As soon as he caught their eyes, he strutted up to the pair. 

“I’ve already begun writing my report on the battle. I’m recommending an investigation of Captain Hugh and putting in commendations for my troops. I suspect there will be an award ceremony once things settle down at Reach.”

“Lieutenant Colonel, you should be more concerned with your troops’ well-being,” Hayes said sharply. “Make sure they’re fed and cleaned. If you have an additional medical staff, you should send them to the infirmary to assist the Navy staff. Once the situation is stabilized, take stock of your total casualties, how many troops are able-bodied, account for weapons, vehicles, equipment, anything from ammunition to MRE’s so we can get reorganized.”

“But—”

“On the double, Lieutenant Colonel.”

Melendez seemed embarrassed and put out. He looked at Vivian and she remained expressionless.

“Don’t look at me, Lieutenant Colonel; Colonel Hayes is the ranking infantry officer and as far as I’m concerned, has operational authority of all UNICOM personnel.”

Melendez, still huffy, offered a stiff salute which was returned by Hayes. The Army officer turned on his heel and marched off to attend his duties.

“He seems a tad showy, Colonel,” Vivian remarked once Melendez was out of earshot. 

“He can fight but it isn’t for the right reasons; he wants medals. Might have time in but that doesn’t make him smart.” Suddenly, he smiled and chuckled. “Like you said, a lot of that going around. Heard about Oswald; he’s going to get it when we make it to Reach. Cole Protocol is the most important rule in the book. We have to protect Earth.”

“ _And_ her colonies, Colonel,” Vivian added, somewhat sharply. Hayes noticed but did not seem to mind. He just shrugged.

“Beg your pardon. All my men are from Earth. So am I. Home is the most important place in the world, don’t you think, Commander?” 

He took a step in front of her. Vivian did not answer; she saluted and the gesture was promptly returned. With a nod, he resumed his rounds among his Marines. Vivian, doing her best not to dwell on his words but otherwise insulted, departed. 

She made her way through the bowels of the _I’m Alone_ , she descended to Second Deck. Here, the corridors and passageways of the ship were clear of personnel. Zero Deck and Level One, just above the former, possessed the most-used facilities on the ship and housed the majority of its complement. The numbered belowdecks were more specialized facilities devoted to powering and running the _I’m Alone’s_ systems. 

Here, there was the hum of machinery and digital sound of information coursing through the _I’m Alone_ like blood vessels through veins. Here, there was no slipspace light filtering through the reinforced viewing glass. Everything was brightly lit in the ever increasingly narrow passages. Personnel in yellow coveralls and jumpsuits filtered in and out of different machine rooms. All stopped to salute her. Vivian checked in, asked after their stations, and if they needed anything.

Eventually, she came to the engine room. She did not have long to take in the massive reactors before she was greeted by two fleeting faces: Lieutenant Commander Burgess, the engineering officer, and Command Master Chief Petty Officer Uwem. The former was a middle-aged Noongar, although he was born on the planet Roost. He was intelligent and affable, with a trim, black mustache and a crop of dark hair. CMCPO Uwem was an Earthborn Nigerian but grew up on Reach; he was around the same age, tall, broad, stocky, bald, and clean-shaven. He looked like the kind of individual selected for the Navy’s recruitment ads at the stations seen all over the Colonies. 

“Ma’am!” they both greeted, saluting.

“At ease,” Vivian remarked, returning their gestures. “I think the reactors held up nicely, don’t you think?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Burgess said. “The reactors exceeded all my expectations. We didn’t have any fluctuations or suffer from overtasking. We actually had power to _spare_. Can you believe it, Commander?”

“It’s almost hard to,” Vivian said with a smile. 

“Teething troubles are very low and with your permission, my section and I would like to remain out of cryo for the duration of our journey so we can monitor the reactors and run some tests. Power sourcing, division, and diversion, charge rates for weapon systems; by the book, just pushed a little bit.”

“While I’d be interested in the results myself, I think it would be better to wait until a new line captain is selected. But remaining out of cryo and monitoring, you have my permission.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Burgess said. With a salute, he joined his staff at their stations. Left with CMCPO Uwem, Vivian began walking slowly through the engine room. 

“How’s the crew?”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I doubt there’s much I could tell you. Seems like you’ve been doing my job,” Uwem said, unsmiling but his tone otherwise jovial. “Morale is high.”

“Even after losing a planet and their Captain’s arrest?”

“These men and women have the training. All they need is someone to give them an order and they’ll take care of it. The rest, well, that’s up to you to take care of it and you did.”

Vivian took a moment to look around. All of the engine room staff were busily working. Some darted between different stations or handed off data pads. Others called out orders or requested feedback from another terminal. Always, there was a response, a passing of information, and a new order to follow up. Glancing between monitors, engaging and disengaging different systems, they seem entirely unconcerned by the engagement or the drama on the bridge. Perhaps it was just a different word down here, or their task was too great to linger on lapses in command, or Uwem was just plain right. 

Sighing a little, she looked up at him. “That can’t be everything a seaman needs.”

“Well, whatever else they need, I’ll be there to tell you, ma’am.”

“Until we get to Reach, at least,” Vivian said with a sigh. Uwem finally smirked, as if he was aware of something Vivian wasn’t. 

“Yes, of course, ma’am.”

***

The Commander continued her tour. A new wave of personnel flooded the mess, the hangar was filled to capacity with Navy, Army Aviation, and Air Force dropships, as well as the latter branches’ air wings. Mechanics busily repaired damage to dozens of air and spacecraft. Tools sparked and drummed, forklifts and cranes honked and moved materials across the deck, and work crews barked orders at one another. 

When she departed the hangar, Vivian decided to go to the armory. Here, the passages between the two compartments were wider than the average corridor or passageway on the _I’m Alone._ It was widened to facilitate the number of troops flowing through Zero Deck, from the barracks, to the armory, and finally the hangar. Quick deployment times would be key in any of their ground operations and having several thousand Marines and ODSTs jammed up in a few halls barely wide enough for two seamen to pass one another. 

As she approached the tall, wide, open door to the armory, however, she saw two officers standing outside it. She identified them as the commanding and executive officers of the ODST detachment, Major Holst and Captain De Vos, respectively. The former was not blustering but his tone was heated. On the other hand, De Vos stood stiffly and her face betrayed no emotion. When they noticed Vivian, only a few paces away, coming towards them, they quickly turned. Standing at attention, they both saluted. 

Both were still clad in the mottled, gray-green armor but lacked their helmets. The CO had sandy blonde hair and a stubble of beard. His eyes were marvelous yet sinister deep shade of blue. De Vos’s eyes were a subdued green, similar to the olive drab coloration through the UNSC’s forces. Her hair was brown and tied into a bun similar to Vivian’s. 

Vivian had read their Career Service Vitae’s at the start of their voyage. Both were initially in the Army, attaining commissions in Airborne units. When selection for SOF occurred, they both applied and passed. She was glad to have experienced special forces officers on the _I’m Alone_ , but she was concerned by some of the notes in Holst’s record. His service was characterized by great achievement and a plethora of medals, but in recent years he was cited for behavior unbecoming of an officer. Most occurred over disputes with other officers over personal citations, denials for promotions, and unfavorable review boards. 

“Major, Captain, if you’re going to argue, do it behind closed doors where nobody can hear or see you. Nobody on this ship, whether they fall directly under your command or not, should see officers behaving that way.”

“Apologies, ma’am,” De Vos said immediately and curtly. Holst said nothing. Vivian glanced between them. 

“Should I be aware of this argument?”

“No, ma’am,” Holst said. 

“If it’s enough to merit this kind of behavior, maybe I should.”

Holst fidgeted and looked down at his boots. De Vos looked over at him, then back at Vivian.

“We were directly responsible for delivering the MFDD to the Marine squad selected by Colonel Hayes. I...disagreed with the Major’s choice of words when he spoke to the Marines.”

“I wasn’t insulting them, Captain,” Holst snapped. “I was just trying to say this was a mission ODSTs were perfectly capable of doing.”

“I was merely offering that kind of language is not befitting of your rank, sir,” De Vos replied coolly, her Belgian accent faint. “I’m just considering cohesion between different units, sir.”

Vivian previously sized De Vos up as a yes man, but began to think she was too quick to judge. De Vos’s CSV was far cleaner and while not as prestigious as her commanding officer, she was a career soldier. Enlisted at sixteen, earned a Battlefield Appointment when she was twenty-one, attended dozens of schools throughout the UNSC, and worked all the way up to Captain. She was professional and clearly had a mind for the bigger picture. 

“Jarheads and Helljumpers butt heads on a ship but on the ground they’ll do just fine. Down there, when bullets are flying, what happens up here doesn’t matter.”

“Which doesn’t justify encouragement of competitive behavior.”

“Competition is a good thing! It makes troopers fight harder and gets medals on their chests.”

“At the present time and in the opinion of your executive officer,” De Vos said in a cool tone, “cohesion is more important than competition.”

“I’m inclined to agree with the Captain,” Vivian finally said. “As inconsequential as you might think it is, Major, try to police that kind of language. I want the voyage to Reach to be as smooth and quiet as possible; the ODSTs, the Marines, the soldiers, everyone, has earned that at the very least.”

“Yes, Commander,” Holst said in a flat tone after a moment’s hesitation.

Vivian took a step forward and both stepped aside. The door to the armory opened. Vivian walked between them and halted. She gazed at Holst for a moment.

“I think we should all be thankful to what those _men_ did, regardless of what branch or unit they may be a part of.”

Vivian left them and continued through the armory. She could feel their eyes on her back but she did not mind. As she suspected, the facility was mostly empty. A few of the _I’m Alone’s_ crew members were monitoring some of the equipment in the enclosed observation platform on the port side of the chamber. Besides them, no one was on the deck itself, at the range, in the classrooms, or using any of the equipment in the center. 

Her own words ringing in her ears, Vivian decided to go to the barracks. Exiting on the opposite side of the armory, she journeyed down the titanium corridors. The bulkheads were studded with hatches and doorways to the various Marine quarters. Many lingered in the halls, chatting with friends from other platoons or companies. Many were in various states of undress, some without shirts, others in short, black athletic shorts and nothing else. Noncommissioned officers were going door to door, collecting damaged or unusable gear. Supply sergeants and other NCO’s distributed fresh uniforms and grooming kits to Marines who had yet to wash or change.

Their voices were rough and rugged and their language was beyond colorful. Despite her own personal reservations, Vivian was happy to see them and hear their upbeat, robust voices. Despite being in new quarters on a new ship and mostly unaware of their new assignment, they seemed right at home. They moved around assuredly and talked to each other like friends on a high school campus. Everybody seemed to know each other. 

After getting directions from some chatting troopers, she arrived at room B100. She found the door open and stepped into the frame. The Marines were scattered across the room, sitting either on their new cots or on one of the few chairs. One Marine was at the locker and was taking off his M52B armor. The room reeked of sweat and bodor despite a strong scent of sterile, standard-issue soap.

For a moment, they didn’t notice her. The squad leader was sitting on the edge of his bed while his blonde haired companion from earlier crouched on the deck. He was untying the former’s boots. 

“You’re only nice to me when I’m wounded,” the squad leader joked.

“Like I say every time, don’t get used to it.”

“You know I’m not crippled, right? I can take off my own boot.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Across the room, a tall German Marine looked at her. He immediately stood up.

“Officer on deck!” 

Everyone immediately jumped to their feet and stood stock still. Even the squad leader was getting back up.

“At ease,” she said, and motioned towards him. “As you were, as you were. Sit down, please.”

As everyone settled back in, she approached him. The squad leader, brown of hair and gray eyed, looked at her tiredly. A faint smile tugged at his lips.

“Can we help you, Commander?”

“Just checking in. Do you need anything?”

“We’re green, ma’am,” said a plucky American with a big smile. “We ate, we washed up, cept’ for him, and we’re just resting now.”

“Good, that’s very good. Well, if anything comes up, come straight to me.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” the squad leader said. Then, he bowed his head, smiled a bit wider, then looked back up. “Are we getting VIP treatment because of the MFDD?”

Vivian stared at him for a moment, then smiled herself.

“Like your friend said, don’t get used to it.”

Everyone laughed in that dry, military way. However, Vivian was unwilling to depart on a slightly snide joke. She thought it would denote the valor of the Marines in the room, more so by their tired faces. Their actions prevented the Covenant from finding any of the Colonies or Earth; it was expected of all personnel, but their action came with great risk. Nobody could deny their courage. 

Turning back, she cleared her throat. “I doubt many throughout the UNSC would have volunteered for something like that. It might not be much, but I would like to personally commend you on your accomplishment. What you did saved lives. Thank you.”

“Well, we didn’t _exactly_ volunteer—” the blonde sniper began, but a smack on his shoulder from his squad leader quickly silenced him. 

“Thank you, Commander,” he said. “For that, and for getting us out of there.”

* * *

Commander Waters nodded. Her emerald eyes seemed to glow and she continued to smile. 

“Well, like I said, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am,” Frost said. He stood up and saluted. The rest of the squad followed suit. Commander Waters surveyed them for a moment, saluted sharply, and departed. 

Frost could not help but be surprised by the Commander’s arrival. Although there were many words of praise and thanks as they traveled through the _I’m Alone_ , coming from so many sister services, hers touched him. There was something very earnest about it. More than that, she seemed to understand a bit more than the hundreds of others. Maybe, he thought, she saw things a little bit more like they did and knew just how close it was. 

Instead of sitting back down, Frost hobbled to the doorway and poked his head out. Down the corridor, with each bulkhead lined and clotted with Marines, he saw Commander Waters in the center. She walked on, her shoulders slightly stooped, her head hung just a little, and her hands folded behind her back. Then, as if she knew he was looking, she immediately straightened up. Her gray fatigues shone in the overhead lighting and the golden trimming practically glowed. She held her head high and walked on briskly. 

Frost turned back, stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, and looked at his men.

“We owe her a lot,” Frost said, his admiration cemented.


	12. Hard Words, Pt. 1

‘Dear Sadie, I just wanted to let you know that I’m doing well. Things have been quiet in our sector, there’s been very little fighting. I’m far from the frontlines. There’s not much to say. Why don’t you tell me about home? How are you these days? Is your little art bar doing well? Are Adelaide and her husband getting along alright? How’re Karen and Danielle? Have they finished school yet? And what about mom and dad, are they okay? I know it’s been a long time since I’ve written. I know you’re probably upset. I just don’t want you to think that I don’t care. I do. It’s just hard to stay in communication when we’re far from home. Seven years is a long time, but it won’t be much longer, I promise—’

‘Dear Sadie, I know it’s been a long time since I sent you a letter. Things have been horrible out here. The Covenant are everywhere and we’re losing planet after planet. I’m scared, I’m exhausted, and I’ve had dysentery more times than I can remember. And I’ve lost a lot of friends. Too many. I was made Sergeant and now I’m in charge of six Marines, some of the only friends I have left. Sometimes I just want to curl up in a ball and shut off. I wish I was home. We could pick flowers from the garden like we used to. You’ll have to send me a picture of them when you write back. It’ll probably be a while after I send this actually. I’m in slipspace right now. You’d like it. It’s beautiful in a way, the weird mix of light and dark. It reminds me of those nights when mom and dad would drive us through Halifax. Do you remember? Do you even remember me? Do you even know what I look like now? I can hardly remember your face after Seven years. Do you guys even think about me anymore? I think about you all the time. Do you even remember that you have a younger brother? Do you even—’

‘Hey Sadie, I almost got vaporized in a nuclear explosion. Being a Marine is great fun. I get to kill something every day and I get to shoot really big guns. I think I made a great decision after all—’

Frost crumpled up the letter and dropped it on the floor next to his bunk. It landed among another dozen or so crashed wads of paper. 

The cabin was empty, the twelve bunk beds were empty. All the cots were made neatly except for Steele’s; the olive drab comforter was pushed all the way to the bottom and the white sheets were in disarray. Personal effects, ranging from holographs to mementos from a hundred different battlefields and camps, were placed on the nightstands and shelves. A few traditional photographs were taped to the locker along with some tasteless pin-ups.

Sitting on the single berth with his back against the bulkhead, Frost began another attempt at scribbling out a letter. For nearly five days he’d been trying and all his endeavors failed. 

He wondered if it was even worth it. Seven years away from home, with hardly a holo-photo or a video call in between, made him feel like a stranger. Still, his family continued to write him letters or send him Waypoint messages. Out of all of them, Sadie wrote the most. She would tell him about life back on Earth, about their family, although a letter every so often begged him to communicate back. Why he wasn’t able to write now was peculiar to him; during basic training, so many years ago, he wrote consistently. Now, it was as if he lost the ability to write anything. 

Recalling his middle school years, he once won an award for a poetry contest. Teachers, friends, and family alike trumpeted that he would become the 26th Century’s great poet. He couldn’t even remember what it was about. That potential poet became a Marine; rhyme, rhythm, meter, and alliteration were replaced by the Marine Corps Hymn, the Rifleman’s Creed, martial arts from the UNSCMC program ranging from Taekwondo to Jujitsu, and firing drills with every weapon in their arsenal. Perhaps they were not replaced, just dormant, and the day he doffed his uniform would be the day such skills returned. 

Setting the pencil down, sighing, and tilting his head back, he simply decided it was war. Relating all he saw and did was an impossibility. His family would never understand what it was like to see a planet glassed, to close the hatch of a Pelican while civilians screamed for help, and to see hundreds of fellow Marines disintegrated by plasma. How could they ever comprehend that horror?

He set the pad of paper aside and rubbed his temples. Malingering, pessimistic thoughts was as bad as an illness. Frost was glad when Steele returned to the room. The Englishman looked more like his normal, well-groomed self. His mustache was trimmed, his thick blonde hair was combed to one side, and his olive drab pocket t-shirt and fatigue trousers were pressed. No one could have guessed a few days earlier he was fighting for his life, save for a small adhesive bandage on his left cheek. 

“What’s your bugger?” he asked, nudging one of the balled up pieces of paper with his booted foot. “Writing the fam again?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, picked up one of the paper balls, and unfolded it. The scout sniper read for a few moments then looked over at him. “Is Sadie ho, yay or nay?”

Frost began pushing on his friend’s shoulder with his booted foot. 

“If we ever get home, and that’s a _big_ if, I’ll kill you if you touch any of my sisters.”

Frost smiled but his tone was deadpan. Steele shoved his foot away and neatened his sleeve. The squad leader sat up, swung his legs out, and sat next to his friend. He snatched the letter from his hand, crumpled it back up, and dropped it with the others. Steele just kept grinning. 

“Don’t sweat it, mate. I haven’t written to my dad since we left for basic.”

“Why?” Frost asked. 

“Fuck him, that’s why.”

Frost just let out a breathy sort of chuckle. 

“Where you been?”

“Eating with some of the boys.”

“Right, well, I’ll go check up on everyone.”

Frost retrieved his overshirt; the torso and the underside of the sleeves were olive drab while the rest was digitally camouflaged. Briefly, he glanced at the mirror and observed the black stripes on his collar. Turning, he looked at Steele. The scout sniper was already laying back and was reading an issue of _STARS_ magazine. After turning a page, he looked over at Frost, then waved him off dismissively. 

“Go on, do your Sergeant things,” he said in a posh tone. 

“I’ll see you later then, Corporal.”

“Right...”

Frost smirked as he headed to the door. Just before he opened it, he heard the sheets rustle as Steele sat up. “...wait, did you say _Corporal?_ As in Corporal, or Lance Corporal?”

“Colonel Hayes and Lieutenant Conroy came to see me after last night’s mess. Told me they’re promoting you to Corporal. They should be around soon enough.”

“Steele grimaced and his posture seemed to shrink slightly. 

“I don’t want a bloody promotion.”

“You’re already bloody promoted,” Frost said as he opened the door. He stepped into the corridor and turned around sharply, clinging to the bulkhead. “You’re my official second. Deal with it.”

Frost made his way to the _I’m Alone’s_ mess and found it only partly filled. It looked more like an average Navy ship’s interior rather than the refugee center it did a few days ago. Cleaned and straightened, there was a healthy mixture of soldiers, Marines, and seamen at the tables. Navy personnel wore a series of colored uniforms, some wearing red, others yellow, others gray. Marines were dressed in digitally camouflage uniforms like Frost, while others wore PT gear. Army troopers were in similar fatigues, although theirs were either solid color olive drab or had different camo patterns. 

After a few minute’s searching, he spotted Bishop and Maddox. Neither were too difficult to find. Bishop was squat, muscular, and possessed a square head, almost like a bulldog. Beside him, Maddox was an orange-haired, pale, gaunt man who wore a permanent scowl. While he was not as energetic as other Marines, he was twice as mean. 

Sliding onto the bench across from the pair, Frost flashed a smile. Maddox grunted while Bishop pushed a third tray across the table to him. On it were two fresh slices of French toast with a side of bacon and scrambled eggs. Next came a cup of coffee. 

“Serve better grub on this ship than most Navy battle-wagons,” Bishop said as he drank his coffee. 

Only after taking a conservate bite of bacon did Frost realize just how hungry he was. He began wolfing down his meal and didn’t stop until the tray was nearly cleared. 

“I doubt you tasted it,” Maddox said, looking up from his own copy of _STARS._ He wrinkled his nose at the demolished contents all over Frost’s tray. “Have some manners.”

“Since when did the Marines include, ‘manners,’ in their training?” Frost asked through a mouthful of toast. “How are you getting on?”

“First time out of Cryo during slipspace. Come to find out it’s incredibly fucking boring,” Maddox said with an almost exasperated tone. He nodded towards the large, open window on the port side of the _I’m Alone._ Blue and golden streams of light twisted around one another with the fluidity of water. Frost propped his chin on his hand and smiled. Bishop didn’t look and Maddox just glared at it once before returning to his magazine. “I’d rather be frozen.”

“Not me,” Bishop muttered into his coffee cup. 

Frost could get bored on a planetside detail, but on Navy ships it was different. There was still plenty of work to do, from rotating security shifts, drills, and training sessions. But there was something reassuring and pleasant about the ships’ subdued humming and firm bulkheads. With the high-adrenaline, post-battle atmosphere subsiding, it was very comfortable.

“Guess this home from now on,” Frost remarked, looking around. “Can’t complain. What about you guys? You good? About everything?”

“Fine ship. You’re in charge of the squad, I’m down,” Bishop said, looking up. “As for the nuke, better that we did than someone else.”

Maddox raised his finger.

“I agree with all, although I’d prefer to avoid scenarios like that in future.”

“I’ll do my best,” Frost said, smiling. With an exchange of nods, he got up and took his tray away. As he searched for more of his squad mates, he spotted Colonel Hayes and Commander Waters. The former made many grand, sweeping gestures as he spoke, while the latter stood with her hands behind her back. She seemed politely focused on the conversation. When Frost walked by, he caught the Navy officer’s eyes. She nodded and smiled, and Frost returned both gestures. Just then he spied Knight walking into the mess hall and the pair waved at one another. 

“Squared away?” Frost asked when he got close enough to her. 

“Square enough, just came from the rec area. Not bad.” Knight held up a data pad which showed a download of _Les Misérables_. “Just reliving some old memories.”

Fondly, Frost recalled how Knight told her of how he met his wife. A shy, quiet kid in school, he skipped lunch to go read at the library. Just like him was a girl named Jane who happened to be reading the same book. Every day, they skipped lunch, read together, and from there, began dating. One unexpected pregnancy later and they were married. 

He was one of the older men in the squad, being around twenty-six or so. Being married made him seem even older to Frost and other Marines in their early twenties. To the likes of Grant, only nineteen, Knight was ancient. Although they teased him about it, they knew he was more of an adult, more mature, and with that came more life experience. He was level-headed, cool, and was full of advice when the younger Marines needed it. 

Seeing the sad expression in his friend’s eyes, Frost tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Just remember, they’re living on your paycheck.”

“Ain’t the same as being there. Jane’s got two jobs, _two_ .” Knight turned the data pad around in his hands. “I’d like to be there for a few more of my son’s birthdays.” He cleared his throat and then smiled. “Jane tells me as much. But I always tell her, I’m fighting so that Nicky _can_ have birthdays.”

There was resoluteness in his voice that Frost really admired. All he could do was nod. Knight motioned towards Bishop and Maddox with the data pad. “Think I’ll pop over and have a scrap of food. If you’re looking for Grant, he’s in the armory. Moser was with him, but he said something about going to the hangar.”

Passing his thanks on, Frost left the mess hall, journeyed back through the long corridors of the barracks, and ended up in the armory. Another mammoth chamber in the shape of a rectangle, it was complemented by its enclosed range, classrooms, sparring rings, and observation station. Marines streamed through the entrances to the locker and shower area. Some were freshly washed, others had just changed into PT Gear consisting of gray t-shirts and black shorts, and the remainder were going in to shower. In the main area of the armory, Marines were lifting dumbells and benching presses. Many were on treadmills, others were stretching, and others were doing push-ups, pull-ups, and burpees. Some raced laps around the armory when no running machines were available. On the raised, padded, sparring rings, Marines wearing gloves and protective headgear practiced mixed martial arts. Some brushed up on knife-fighting techniques. In some of the rings, a projector depicted floating green holograms which Marines hit or kicked in a sequence of moves. At first Frost though their fists would pass through, but they hit the circular targets as if they had physical weight. 

From the enclosed firing range in the rear section of the chamber was filled to capacity. Frost took a moment to view the range through the viewing glass on the side. Thirty separate firing stations lined the end. A small counter to place ammunition and weapons characterized each one. Upon an instructor’s orders, all the Marines picked up M6C pistols, loaded them, assumed a firing position, and began shooting. Red holographic targets depicted Elites and Brutes; each one had green markers on the head, throat, joints, and other areas Marines were taught to aim for. When the rounds made contact with the holograms, they didn’t pass through. Frost assumed the technology was similar to the sparring targets. Yellow marks appeared all over the holograms, depicting where the rounds hit. 

Adjacent to the range in a connected compartment was the armory proper. Divided into many different subsections, it was packed to the brim with weapons lockers, equipment cases, supply crates, and boundless stores of ammunition. Open racks with safety bars housed countless firearms and there were stores of M52B body armor. A small production facility was located inside; one section serviced weapons and ammunition while the other repaired, modified, and manufactured body armor. Supply sergeants from the Marines and noncommissioned officers tasked to the center from the Navy crew were at various stations. Some were going over equipment, others were restocking ammunition dispensers. A large group were shifting materials to an undersupplied section of the armory. 

After gaining clearance with the Marines on security, Frost proceeded into one of the modding labs. Marines and other personnel were practicing weapon drills, testing and tweaking optics, and cleaning various equipment parts. At one bench, Grant was disassembling an MA5B and an MA5C assault rifle. Both weapons’ internal parts were neatly arrayed around the main body. He took one moment to turn down the volume on a nearby radio blasting heavy metal flip music. 

Grant heard Frost’s footsteps on the deck and stood. He flashed a wide, happy smile.

“How’s your ankle? You’re not limping.”

“Moser and that Doc patched me up pretty tight. Still hurts a bit.”

“You’ve had worse,” Grant said with a wave of his hand, as if he was a housewife passing off empty advice to a friend. Frost smirked though and nodded. 

“Haven’t we all?” he said and leaned against the bench. 

Grant returned to his work, deftly sliding, twisting, and locking the barrel back into the MA5C. Most Marines from their class tended to default to the MA5B as a primary weapon for assault actions, urban and orbital environments, and general close quarters combat. It had a large magazine, a wonderful rate of fire, accuracy that increased the longer one squeezed the trigger, and packed a punch. Although the MA5C was by no means a new weapon and saw widespread use throughout the Corps, many of their class shunned the weapon. While it boasted superior range and accuracy at mid-range, these boons were lost in the fields the MA5B excelled in. 

An expert rifleman, Grant defaulted to the MA5C unlike Frost and Knight. Moser carried the squad’s only BR55, while Bishop utilized an M90 shotgun and Maddox used an M7. Steele, a scout sniper, carried an SRS-99, but at other times carried an BR55. It depended on the mission and squad role. 

“Hold up okay during the battle?”

“Sure did. Heard you guys rattling away with the B’s when we were defending the interior lines. I’m with Steel and Moser, I don’t like to let them get that close.”

“At least you have some extra rounds when they _do_ get close.”

Grant just made a dismissive noise as he began to tinker with the springs. Frost watched him for a while, folding his hands on the bench. He looked down at the dismantled MA5B and as if his hands were possessed by someone else, they began to put the weapons together. “You cool with what happened back there?”

“The nuke? That was great fun, wasn’t it?”

“I hope you’re being sarcastic.”

“You can’t tell me that final dash wasn’t a thrill,” Grant suggested. He didn’t wait for Frost to respond. “Just another mission. We’ve pulled off some crazy shit and we’ve had a lot of fun. How many times have we high-fived each other after getting shot to pieces in a Covvie ambushed?”

“It’s only fun because we lived.”

“I know, that’s my point. We made it, so let’s have a laugh and move on.”

“I can appreciate that, but Maddox was right when he said we shouldn’t be getting ourselves into anything reckless.”

Grant looked at him, brow furrowed.

“We’re Marines, dude, everything we do is reckless.”

“Not everything. So next time we’re in a fight, just focus on it and not how much fun you’re having. Got it?”

“Got it good,” Grant said smoothly. 

Frost finished putting the MA5B back together and set it down. Winking at his friend, he turned around and headed out. Despite leaving the issue, he was still concerned. Grant was a good Marine and never failed to do his duty. Unlike Steele, he didn’t blatantly forgo Marine traditions and discipline. But Frost was concerned he didn’t take the job as seriously as he needed to. However, there was one man he knew he could trust. 

Dietrich Moser was a reserved man from Hamburg. He was serious, devoted, loyal, and above all cautious. If Frost was going to have anyone check and meter Grant in the field, it was him. 

After gaining permission to enter the hangar, he descended steps from the catwalk outside the entrance and stepped onto the deck. There were half a dozen rows of Pelicans, Longsword fighters, and Shortsword strategic bombers. Tools sparked and flashed as mechanics crawled over each craft, repairing plasma damage, adding new armor plating, changing ammunition out, and serving weapons. Space on the desk was allocated for all of the aircraft and excess vehicles brought on by the Army. As well, there was a pool of supply crates waiting to be transported to storage below Zero Deck. Forklifts rumbled across the deck and ceiling suspended cranes ferried the cases to descending elevators. Machinery clunked and clanked, voices exchanged, intercoms chimed, and there was a constant _whir_ of power tools. Seamen in yellow uniforms were everywhere. 

At one of the parked Pelicans, Moser sat on a crate at the rear hatch. It happened to be the dropship which pulled them off Ambition. With him was Warrant Officer Jake Jasper, call sign Triple Seven during his call sign: Yankee-777. He was a trim man with neat black hair and a long face. He had darting eyes and a mouth shaped into a natural smile. The Afrikaner nodded when Frost approached. 

“Well if it isn’t Jacky Frost. Glad to see you haven’t melted.”

“Good one, sir,” Frost said, and saluted. The pilot saluted back and then waved his hand nonchalantly. “Your bird took a good clip, there.”

“Ruffled feathers but she’ll be tip-top soon enough. Me and my crew are _fine_ by the way.”

“I deduced that when I walked up,” Frost retorted, sliding his hands into his pocket. A loud metallic _bang_ resonated underneath the Pelican and it was swiftly followed by a string of curses uttered in Finnish. Jasper giggled and thumped his fist on the side of the dropship. 

“Drop something there, Pajari?”

There was an angry reply in Finnish. A pair of legs from under the Pelican kicked a hunk of singed metal away. Warrant Officer Pajari appeared, a woman of their age with red hair as fiery as her temper. Jumping to her feet, she kicked the side of the Pelican. 

“Piece of shit! Try to fix it and decides to fall apart in your face!” She came around and pointed at Jasper. “Why did you set it down so roughly? You knew the landing gear was loose! I don’t want to have to keep making the same repairs.”

“Mechanics make repairs.”

“You’re lazier than a drunk.”

“You’re so mean _baba_.”

“Ugh, asshole!” she swore and jumped into the rear of the Pelican. Isha, the Indian crew chief, appeared then. He had smokey eyes, dark hair, and a trim mustache. With ease, he lowered the ceiling-mounted rear machine gun and began to clan it. Looking at Frost, he shrugged.

“Kids,” he said. “They fall in love just as soon as they fall into hate. Sometimes they confuse one for the other. It’s very amusing.”

Frost looked at Moser. 

“I’ve yet to find the reason why you’d want to hang with this dysfunctional family.”

“Just wanted to say thank you personally,” Moser said as he stood up. 

“Anytime,” Jasper said in a snide tone. “I’m a five star tax service. You’re such good customers I won’t even leave the meter running.”

“We appreciate it. It’s nice to actually hear Marines say it rather than talk into a news camera and say how much they appreciate their Aviators.”

Once they said their goodbyes, Frost and Moser began to trundle back towards the armory with their hands in their pockets. At first, they didn’t speak or even look at one another. It was too loud in their immediate area, anyways. Eventually, they walked back up onto the platform leading to the entrance. 

Leaning on the railing, Frost relayed his concern to the veteran rifleman. Moser listened intently but his eyes remained fastened on the sights of the hangar. Only when Frost finished did he look his way. 

“You’re the squad leader. Give me an order, I’ll follow it.”

“It’s not an order. I’m asking you.”

“You’re the squad leader: you don’t _ask_ . You _command_. We’re your responsibility on and off the field and anything I can do to assist in that matter, I will.”

“That’s actually going to be Steele’s job.”

Moser blinked, then winced. 

“God help us.”

“I’m asking because you and Grant are tight. I mean, we’re all close, but you and him are really close. 

Like every other friendship within the regiment, theirs formed during basic training. Moser was a deeply religious man and when his grandfather, the man who essentially raised him, passed away, he was unable to go to the funeral. But he was able to make time to go to the church and pray for his grandfather’s soul. Sometimes, he would go even without permission from base. Every single time, whether it was sanctioned or not, Grant was with him. While not religious himself, he bowed his head and repeated the prayers Moser uttered. The latter never forgot and the two were often shoulder to shoulder. Even apart, the other knew whether the other was. 

Frost sighed and tapped Moser on the back. “Just keep an eye on him and don’t let him catch on.”

“Don’t worry so much. I’ll handle it.” 

“I’m the squad leader: it’s my job to worry, now,” Frost joked. He stood up, getting ready to leave. As he began to walk back down the stairs, he heard Moser take a few steps after him. He turned and found the rifleman’s face to be serious. 

After a few moments, he smiled a little. “If there’s one thing I could say about Teo...he never worried enough.”

Frost stared at him for a short time, nodded, and left without saying another word. 


	13. Hard Words, Pt. 2

Teodoro Grimaldi, Teo to his friends, a young Genoan who jumped at the opportunity to enlist when he was seventeen years old. His father was a sailor on commercial vessels while his mother operated a small goods shop in Genoa’s Old City. Both of his brothers were still in high school. He had every opportunity to find employment within its parents’ sectors, but he became a Marine. Now, he was dead. 

His shadow hung over Frost; his jet black hair, his eyes so dark they were nearly black, the bristle of his stubble, the scarred chin, and the permanent scowl. He was the squad's pillar. Moser was right, Teo never worried. When he became a squad leader, he trusted everyone to do their jobs. Nobody was more aware of the squad’s abilities and their weaknesses better than him. He adjusted the squad’s roles to emphasize those skills and dampen their flaws. Leadership came very naturally to Teo despite his strict nature. 

Death never phased him. It seemed entirely absent from his mind for years. When Ocampo died, and then Wright, their first casualties in the war, Teo just maintained his typical, hardened demeanour. Frost knew he could never hope to be like him. Already, free from danger in the strange, beautiful lights of slipspace, he was worrying incessantly about the operations to come. Would his worry make a difference or was it all just mathematics? If it was just a matter of numbers, he suffered no casualties during his first battle as a squad leader. Teo lost two over several years. 

How much time did he have until he lost a Marine? When that first death occurred, how much of it would be his fault and how much of it would fall on the nature of war itself? Just what would he  _ do  _ when it finally occurred? Would he fall to his knees and grieve or just continue with the mission? How would his friends handle that? Teo became a squad leader during basic training; he was their friend but he was always cloaked in the authoritarian veil of leadership. He was already a little different while Frost came up through boot camp with the rest. Would they expect him to carry on or shed tears like them? As that thought crossed his mind, he recalled he never saw Teo mourning Wright or Ocampo. He couldn’t have been that heartless after writing letters to their families. Maybe that was his way. 

Frost finished walking through medical and arrived in one of their storage facilities. Eventually, he passed onto one different from the rest. It’s large door was marked not by a placard denoting medical supplies or equipment, there was only one word: morgue. Almost every class of UNSC Navy ships possessed one. Jettisoning bodies into space was a myth propagated by crummy ONI Section-Two financed movies. Families wanted the bodies of their sons and daughters back home. Policy changes led to the additional facility. Frost was never in one before. 

Taking a labored breath, he went through the automatic door. Immediately, he was greeted by a desk with a clerk working at it. 

“Can I help you, Sergeant?” she asked, looking up from her terminal. 

“Yes, ma’am, I had a question. Are enlisted personnel allowed to visit the deceased?” he asked politely. Folding his hands behind his back, he wrung them together to hide his discomfort. 

“Yes,” the clerk said, nodding slightly. Her tone was professional but there was a hint of kindness in it. “Dr. Ebrahimi said all personnel are allowed to visit. Can I have the name and rank, please?”

“Grimaldi, Teodoro. Sergeant.”

“Your name?”

“Frost, Nathaniel. Sergeant.”

Her terminal chimed and she handed him a data pad followed by a holo-pen.

“Sign here, please Sergeant...thank you. Orderly, please assist the Sergeant.” 

One of the orderlies was sitting at a station behind the desk and he came around front of the desk. The clerk handed him a data pad as he walked by. After reviewing it briefly, he motioned to Frost. 

“Right this way, Sergeant.”

Frost followed him through a door leading into a short hall and to another door. They came into a large, rectangular room. On the wall opposite from the door and the other to the left were studded with metal lids. Each one hand a handle in the center; above it was a number and letter combination. Below the handle was a keypad with a small screen. The room was very chilly. Other than the lids on the walls, there were five tables in the center of the chamber. Overhead, there were stark white light. 

The orderly went over to a hatch marked, ‘7B,’ typed a code onto the pad, and then slowly pulled it out. For an instant, merely a split second, a noticeable pulse ran through Frost’s body. At that moment, he wanted to run from the room sobbing. But he inhaled very deeply and released a shaky breath. 

Teo was on the table, his body devoid of any clothing. His skin was a ghastly, faded shade of white and his face was sunken in. Both eyes were shut. Both legs looked strange; when he died, both were crushed but they seemed repaired to a certain degree. Still, it was obvious the bones were nothing more than powder and the flesh was crumpled. The deep gash where the shrapnel buried itself was sealed. All that remained was a line of stitches in the center of his chest.

Yet, his expression was calm, as if he was sleeping. Frost breathed shakily and approached. He didn’t know what to do, whether to touch his hair, kiss him on the cheek, squeeze his hand, or merely pat his chest once and depart. 

“Does he have to be uncovered like this?” Frost asked. The orderly, who withdrew to the door, stepped back. Frost looked over his shoulder, his gray eyes tearful. “A blanket? A plastic sheet? Something, so he isn’t...like this.”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant,” another, familiar voice said. Frost looked past the orderly and saw Dr. Jasmine Ebrahimi standing in the doorway. 

* * *

Jasmine walked in, one hand clutching her data pad to her chest, the other in her white lab coat pocket. She dismissed the orderly who departed with a quiet, ‘ma’am.’ Sergeant Frost looked back at the body on the pull out table. Slowly, he walked up beside him and stood nearly shoulder to shoulder with him. “Standard procedure when storing and transporting the deceased is to leave them uncovered.”

“I understand.” 

Frost inhaled, his voice thick with emotion. Then, his gray eyes widened a little and he turned to face her. He saluted smartly and stood at attention. Jasmine returned the gesture. 

“At ease, Sergeant. Do you mind if I stay with you for a little while?”

“No, ma’am, er...doctor.”

For a time, they stood there merely gazing at the body. Jasmine eventually had to look at him. She could feel his remorse, as if there was a prevailing aura of sadness around the Marine. When he was in the medical bay some days ago, she recalled how calm he seemed to be. It was something tangible that she could have reached and touched. Treating him gave her that small reprieve she needed before she became over-stimulated. Now, his grief was heavy and she could feel seeping into her bones. 

Frost must have noticed her looking at him. “Teodoro, that was his full name. Really just Theodore in Italian, or close to it, something like that. Funny how the same names appear in different cultures and languages. Only a few letters set them apart.” He looked at her. “Ebrahimi. Iranian?”

“Yes, both my parents are Terrans. My father was born in Isfahan, and my mother’s Spanish but she grew up in France, in Lyon. That’s where they met.”

“Bet that was a fine place to grow up.”

“I didn’t. I was born on a ship bound for the Inner Colonies. Grew up bouncing between different worlds; my parents are both doctors and we moved a lot. You strike me as more of a homebody.”

Frost smiled a little. 

“Yeah, I’m a Terran. Grew up in Halifax, Nova Scotia. I’m Acadian.”

“An old bloodline.”

“We’re all a bunch of mutts, no matter where we’re born.” Frost pointed at the body. “This guy, he could trace a lineage all the way back to when Genoa was a republic.”

Suddenly, his features dropped as he set his eyes back on the body of his friend. Jasmine continued looking at him, observing the sadness etched into his face. His gray eyes became cloudy and his entire frame seemed to drop. So many wore such a face since the evacuation. Countless Marines and soldiers lost friends in the battle and for days she saw them lamenting their loss. Squads, platoons, and entire companies came together to remember their fallen in ceremonies held in communal areas. It was traditional: a rifle fastened to a platform with a CH252 helmet resting on the stock. Draping around the weapon were the dog tags and at the base of it was a UNSC flag. Men, some so young they hardly merited the title, to the old salts who had fought in the Insurrection, wept. It took everything she had, as in this very moment, not to exhibit such emotions. Jasmine only had their sadness: she had few friends and lost none to the war. 

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Jasmine said finally, doing her best to retain her composure. 

“Eight years I knew him. He was my brother, a great Marine, and a fine man.”

“I wish I could have met him.”

Frost chuckled. 

“To be honest, he rubbed everyone but us the wrong way. If you weren’t a Marine, he wanted nothing to do with you.” For a moment, he thought. “Maybe it was just our squad; anyone else and he didn’t want to deal with it.”

He shook his head. “One day, I’ll try to see his parents. Don’t know when, but a letter from me or from the Corps isn’t going to explain everything.”

It was a burden to tell another’s parents just how their son died and Jasmine admired Frost for it. The Marine bent over finally and whispered something into Teo’s ear. When he stood up, he sighed heavily and slowly pushed the tray back in. The hatch sealed and the keypad clicked. Frost stood in front of it, his head bowed and his hands balled up into fists by his side. 

Jasmine stared at his back, then glanced at her watch. 

“Sergeant, I’m going to my office. Would you care to walk with me a little?”

“I would,” he said immediately. 

Walking side by side in the hall, they were silent at first. Jasmine would occasionally look at him, hoping he would speak first. Frost stared straight ahead as he marched along. It was clear he was tired. Such emotional interactions were draining on both the mind and the body. It was expected. 

“Are your men adjusting to the leadership transition?”

“We camp up through boot together. We’ve all been in the same outfit for eight years. It’s pretty seamless.”

“Although, you’re still wearing a certain kind of face.” Frost looked at her, confused. Jasmine shrugged as she fixed her glasses. “The, ‘everything is okay,’ face I see many NCO’s and officers wearing.”

Frost pursed his lips for a moment. 

“Do you go and complain to your surgeons?” he asked, not unkindly. 

“It’s harmful to keep your true feelings bottled up inside. That can cause a lot of damage and not just to yourself.”

The Marine gazed at her curiously. Then, he smiled a little. Finally, he relaxed his posture, sliding his hands into his fatigue trouser pockets. With that, his head stooped a little and his gait became a little bit more normal, instead of how a Marine walked. Jasmine felt a little bit more at ease. 

“You know, doctor, I couldn’t help but notice you seemed a little... _ affected,  _ in there.”

What would she tell him? The complex, intricacies of synesthesia? Although she never liked to doubt another person’s education, he was a Marine; he probably never heard for it. Still, she felt obligated to explain seeing as she herself made the decision to stay with him while he processed his emotions. He would understand but she just wasn’t sure how to explain it without appearing demented. If she treated it as an objective condition, rather than something personal, then perhaps she would be able to. Besides, what could hurt from an amiable conversation, regardless of fraternization regulations? Jasmine smiled a little. 

“If you can spare the time, we speak further in my office,” she said, pausing briefly in the hall. Frost took a step ahead and turned, smiling a little. Just as he opened his mouth, another Marine came sauntering down the hall. 

“Blimey, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” said the English-accented Marine. 

“I’ve been busy. Dr. Ebrahimi let me introduce you to my friend and squad mate, Corporal Steele.” Steele walked up beside Frost and gave a mediocre salute Jasmine didn’t bother returning. Frost grinned at his companion and then looked back at Jasmine. “The UNSC Marine Corps’ most British man.”

The scout sniper glared at Frost then. 

“Yeah, just as funny as the first hundred times,” he muttered, “platoon meeting.”

“Guess I better go,” Frost said to Jasmine. “Thanks very much for your help, Dr. Ebrahimi, I really appreciate it.” 

“Of course, Sergeant,” Jasmine said with a nod. The two Marines began walking down the corridor. “Sergeant?” They paused and Frost looked back. “You can just call me Dr. Jasmine, and feel free to come by my officer anytime.”

The Marine smiled gratefully, nodded, and departed. 

* * *

Vivian was flipping through the pages of a medical textbook she pulled from Jasmine’s bookshelf when the doctor walked in. Jasmine seemed a bit startled, resting her hand over heart for a moment. 

“Hi there, Viv.”

All Vivian did was grunt. Jasmine walked in, setting her data pad on her desk and then sat in her chair. 

“How’re things in medical?”

“You know, you could have sent me an inter-shipe message, or used the intercom,” Jasmine replied. Vivian smiled at her as she flipped the page. 

“I’ll take any opportunity to come hang with you, Jas.”

Jasmine smiled, took off her glasses, and rubbed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. “Not much to report. The casualty situation has stabilized and we were able to release some of the patients with lighter wounds. Most surgeries have been completed and severe cases are being closely monitored. The flash cloning lab is busy with organ replacement. Other than that, relatively quiet.”

“You and your staff did very well. A mass casualty situation is difficult even with a robust team and plenty of supplies.”

“I’ll pass that onto the team,” Jasmine sighed. Vivian studied her for a moment and caught her fatigued expression. Snapping the textbook shut and sliding it back onto the shelf, Vivian walked over and took a seat on the opposite side of the desk. She leaned forward and folded her hands together on the edge. 

“Talk to me.”

“Some of these troops lost friends on Ambition. They’re still processing.”

“Yeah, I know how they feel,” Vivian murmured, then came back to attention. “It’s affecting you?”

“To a degree. I’m managing.” Jasmine slouched her chair and rested her hands on her stomach. “I went to medical school and then OCS so I could help people. I knew it was going to come up but I thought I’d be able to handle it better than I am. I feel like I’m teetering and holding fast at the last moment.”

Jasmine tilted her head back and gazed up at the ceiling of her office. Behind her, golden-blue light poured through the window. Then, it faded; were it not for the white electrical lighting overhead, the room would have been plunged into darkness. Still, the shadow was heavy on the cabin. 

When it faded, Jasmine sat back up and put her glasses back on. Vivian reached across the desk and squeezed her hand. 

“You got through that shock just fine. If you can do that, you can do it again.”

“Thanks, Viv.” Comfortable silence fell between the two old friends and they sat back in the chairs. For a while, the quiet became so enjoyable Vivian thought they would both end up taking a nap right then and there. 

After a time, Jasmine got up and began writing up a report. As she did, Vivian got back up and began looking at her bookshelf again. “Marines are having meetings?”

“Hayes wanted to wait a few days before passing on the full extent of our coming operations. The Marines know this is their new station, but considering what kind of operations we’ll be pulling it’s better if they hear it from their CO rather than me.”

She pulled out a short text. “A Hypothesis on the Removal of the UNSC Neural Interface...by Dr. Jasmine Ebrahimi.”

Vivian turned around, grinned, and shook the book in her hand. Jasmine rolled her eyes and tried to hide her blush. 

“Just theories. Extraction can kill an individual if there’s an error. I just jotted some ideas about making it safer.”

“Well your scribbles got published in the Naval Medical Journal,” Vivian said, flipping through it. “Sometimes I forget there’s a metal plate in the back of my skull. Do you?”

“All the time.” Jasmine giggled. “Do you think you’ll get yours out when the war’s over? Do you think they recycle them and implant them in new officers?”

“That’s  _ nasty _ .” Vivian said. “Who knows when the war will end. Right now, let’s just focus on making it to Reach. The sooner the remaining wounded are in a planetside hospital, the soon we can breathe a bit easier.”

Jasmine nodded in agreement and sent her report. Instead of opening a new file, she pushed her glasses up onto her forehead, draped one arm over the back of her chair, and looked at Vivian. 

“I didn’t see the light show. I was down in medical. I got to hand it to you, Viv, two ships down in your first engagement, that’s really something.”

“It was luck. We were up against a minimal number of Covenant ships with poor shielding. If those were capital ships, we may have suffered many more casualties.” Vivian shook her head. “I wish we could have gotten there sooner.”

“A head-on matchup between one UNSC ship and a Covenant fleet would be suicidal. What you did saved a lot of lives.” Vivian opened her mouth to speak but Jasmine held up one finger to silence her. When Vivian tried again, Jasmine widened her eyes and pursed her lips, wagging her finger like a scolding teacher. Defeated, the Commander folded her arms across her chest and sat back in her chair. “You graduated in the top percentage of class. You’re the smartest officer I know. I don’t think what you did is a one-time deal.”

“We can’t think like that. This is war, I’m going to lose people.”

“Some of my staff lost patients in surgery. I felt guilty for a while after that. But then, I remember, it wasn’t me or my doctors who killed those Marines or soldiers. It was the Covenant who killed them. Yes, you’re right, but it’s not going to be you pulling the trigger. It’ll be the enemy.”

Vivian didn’t respond. She couldn’t think of anything and just maintained a steady, almost mournful gaze with Jasmine. The doctor eventually smiled and shrugged a little. “Not to mention, you’re the  _ acting  _ captain, Commander Waters. A line officer will take over, although I have my doubts they’ll be accepted when the  _ I’m Alone  _ is already in such capable—”

“Shut up,” Vivian hissed. 

“I know you’re stressed, but hang in there. We’ll be at Reach soon enough.”

“And then Oswald will get what he deserves,” Vivian seethed. Immediately, Jasmine frowned. Vivian shrugged at her and made a face. 

“Don’t focus so much on him. You did what you had to do as an officer. Don’t make it personal.”

“I’m not, it’s just, he...I can’t even find the words to describe how I feel about him. Spineless, selfish, disgraceful—”

“There’s no denying what he did is wrong. But you’re getting too close, too attached to this problem. Handle it as an officer, not as the individual you are. You...look, you’re my best friend, so don’t take this the wrong way.”

The amount of times Vivian heard that during her time at OCS with Jasmine was staggering. Each time, it was both daunting and terribly annoying. Now, as an adult, Vivian didn’t need to be scolded about her personality or character like she was a child who did wrong. Still, she reminded herself how lucky she was to have a friend who would talk to her honestly rather than try to dodge around the issues. Even if the conversation grew hot, it never melted their friendship. 

Jasmine leaned forward and pressed her hands together. “You have a tendency to lock onto a single person’s actions, personality, or ideal. It festers like an untreated, septic wound. It drives you crazy. It’s unhealthy and destructive. I understand the trauma you’ve been through, I understand where it comes from, but you need to check that kind of behavior. Put your duties first or else you’ll just drive yourself nuts focusing on people’s faults.”

Jasmine opened her hands. “You’ve been really stellar and open with the crew. That says a lot to me, and to them.”

“I care about them.”

“I know. I’m very proud of you. I mean it and not just because a good officer knows how to balance their authority and humanity with the crew. But at OCS, I was the  _ only  _ person you trusted and cared about. You alienated nearly everyone, even the instructors who fawned over you. I don’t want to see  _ that  _ kind of Vivian come back.”

Jasmine rested her hands on the desk and looked at Jasmine, almost as if she was pleading. 

“I still get dreams, Jasmine. It’s not like I can just let go of the past.”

“You can move forward, you don’t have to stay in the shadows of your friends. I know it still hurts to hear it, but they’re gone, Vivian. And so is he.”

***

When the first shift went to sleep, Vivian began roaming the halls. She was slightly bent forward, hands folded behind her back, her hair out of the regulation bun. Dark bags hung under her eyes; she couldn’t sleep. It never came easily for her, not for years. Jasmine’s words still bit into her. Not ruminating on them was an impossibility she wasn’t even going to entertain. But they were keeping her up and so she defaulted to her new habit: roaming the long corridors of the  _ I’m Alone _ . Night after night, she would ramble throughout the ship. Sometimes she would just stay on Zero Deck but other times she ascended or descended nearly all of them. Occasionally, she would spend time with crew members who rarely saw or heard from the commanding officer. She would even assist in their duties. Other times, she just kept to herself, exchanging only curt nods and salutes with the second shift. 

The halls were empty, which Vivian was thankful for. Drifting through the barracks, filled with the raucous snoring of several thousand Marines, she eventually ended up in the armory. It too was deserted. 

For a minute, she thought about practicing on the range with her sidearm. But she decided against it; while she wasn’t able to sleep, she was still tired. Loud gunshots didn’t seem too agreeable. 

Just as she was beginning to leave, she heard a sound through the open armory door. It was a clinking, metallic sound, as if someone was tinkering. Vivian stopped to listen, even after it faded. Holding out, it returned. Curious, she ventured into the armory proper. Poking her head in, she found the armory staff were mostly removed to another section. Sitting at a weapon’s bench was a Marine in fatigue trousers and an olive-drab garrison t-shirt. Instead of working on the table, he was sitting beside it on a crate. On a plastic tarp on the deck in front of him was a dismantled MA5B assault rifle. 

Although it was a side profile, she recognized him as the leader of the squad that set the nuke on Ambition. She didn’t think she would see him again so soon. Vivian walked in and the Sergeant turned around to see who was coming. He began to stand up but Vivian held up her hand. 

“As you were.” Vivian pointed at the weapon. “Why on the deck and not the bench?”

“You don’t get a workbench in the field, Commander,” he said with a smile. 

“I think it’s a little late for weapon maintenance.” 

“Just my..ritual, I guess I can call it that,” he said with a shrug. “After big battles I like to have a little time to myself when things are quiet and people aren’t around. Going over my weapon gives me something to do. Takes my mind off the fight.”

Vivian regarded him for a few moments. 

“What’s your name?”

“Sergeant—”

“Your first name.”

“Ma’am?”

Sitting cross-legged on the opposite side of the assault rifle, she flashed a cordial smile. 

“I’ve been bombarded with ranks and surnames for days. Things have slowed down and I wouldn’t mind something a little bit more casual.”

It would be a wonderful way to punctuate her day rather than the heavy-handed conversation with Jasmine, she thought to herself. Frost smiled warily but finally acquiesced with a nod. 

“Nathaniel.”

“You go by Nate?”

“Nate, Nathan, Nathaniel, doesn’t make a difference to me.”

“I’m Vivian, but I trust you won’t call me Viv.”

“Will I have to work up to such a privilege?” he asked, extending his hand. Vivian shook his hand. 

“No guarantees. There’s a form to fill out and everything.”

The Marine returned to his weapon. Vivian watched as his hands deftly moved between the different parts and applied cleaning solutions with the brushes. All his movements were quick and accurate. As well, he handled everything so gently it seemed like he was handling glass fixtures. He was quiet, focused, but his eyes seemed troubled. 

When he finished putting the weapons back together, he held it up with a grin. It exposed a missing tooth when he did. 

“Care to try?”

Vivian took it, set it down, and began dismantling the weapon. 

“Can you tell me about the battle?” she asked. 

“The Army troopers got cut to pieces on the flats.”

“I heard about the Scarab.”

“Lost a friend to it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged and nodded considerately. “How did you take it out, anyways?”

“We drove a Warthog off a cliff, landed on it, jammed explosives into the core, and scurried off.”

“Landed?”

“More like crashed.”

Vivian smiled as she turned the barrel out of the MA5B. Carefully, she set it on the tarp. He sighed and sat back, propping himself up on his arms. “It was dumb.”

“It got the job done, didn’t it?” When he seemed unconvinced, she offered a shrug. “At least you can say you live an interesting life.”

“An insane one, more like it.” He shook his head, then grew serious. “My CO told me what kind of ops will be running once we leave Reach. Outer Colonies, Covenant-controlled space, offensive missions. It sounds all good to me.”

“Agreed. I spent almost a year with the Home Fleet at Earth. Good experience, but there’s no Covenant there. The waiting was terrible. Everyone will need to be ready for anything.” 

A thought crossed Vivian’s mind then as she stared at the weapon in her hands. Her movements, while trained, did not feel graceful. The more she worked, the harder she thought. Eventually, she looked up at him. “Would you be interested in assisting with remedial firearms instruction here on the range? I think having some experienced Marine infantrymen would be beneficial to the training of the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ crew.”

“Sure, I don’t mind helping on the range. Any excuse to shoot guns, really. Besides, I owe you.”

“If I’ve done you a favor recently I would have written it down.”

“You got us off Ambition. Saved us all. It’s the least I can do.”

Vivian smiled humbly. 

“Well, I appreciate it. Thank you, Nathaniel.”

“It’ll be a pleasure Commander Waters.”

“ _ Vivian _ .”

“Sorry, I’m not on a first name basis with most Navy officers I meet.”

“You are with this one.”


	14. Condemnation, Pt. 1

“The court finds Captain Gerald Patrick Oswald guilty on all charges: character unbecoming of an officer of the United Nations Space Command Navy and for attempting to breach the United Nations Space Command Emergency Priority Order 098831A-1, otherwise known as the Cole Protocol. It is in the opinion of this jury that, as the Cole Protocol is the paramount law across the entire UNSC Armed Forces, a failure to display strict adherence to it is one of the most grievous of crimes, akin to treason.”

The speaker of the jury, the highest ranking member among a pool of senior Navy officers, rested. The judge sat up in his seat and folded his hands together. 

“Violation of the Cole Protocol, even an attempt, puts all of humanity at risk. With the loss of so many colonies and millions of lives, our worlds’ security doubles as all of humanity’s security. Such a crime warrants a great punishment. It is only for the respect I have towards your father, who died fighting the Covenant valiantly at Harvest, that I do not sentence you to death. I sentence you instead to life imprisonment with no chance for parole. You have disgraced yourself, your family, your crew, and the UNSC Navy. This court is adjourned.”

As the gavil fell, Vivian looked over her shoulder. The courtroom was filled with officers and personnel from the  _ I’m Alone.  _ Even some of the Marines were present. She found herself seeking Nathaniel and managed to pick him out among the men wearing MARPAT-pattern utility uniforms. He offered a grim nod, as if affirming the solemn action taking place in the court. All Vivian could do was return it; she agreed, but now that the action was carried out and the emotions of the voyage were gone, she could not help but feel pity. 

The military courtroom was dimly lit by Reach’s evening sun. UNSC banners hung on the walls in between the numerous, tall, slim windows. Paintings on wider sections of the wall depicted heroes in gray tunics, some who died early in the war and others who fought during the Insurrection. Other images displayed famous ships or cataclysmic battles. More than once, Vivian’s emerald eyes were drawn to a painting of the UNSC  _ Spirit of Fire _ , a  _ Phoenix _ -class ship derived from a converted colony ship. It was missing for nearly ten years. The missing were fabled heroes and she wondered what they would have made of Oswald, sitting at the front of the room. 

For nearly two weeks the trial had dragged on. She expected it would last longer but she was surprised by the relative swiftness of UNSC JAG Corps. As the damning evidence was stacked against him, the jury was upon him like hawks. For days, the prosecuting lawyer eloquently made his case while Oswald continued to appear pathetic, aged, and gray. 

As the verdict was delivered, he began to cry silently. When he was taken away, he did not say a word and didn’t struggle. His head remained bowed and his cheeks glistened with tears. Perhaps, he finally accepted his fate and recognized his mistake. 

“Should have stood the son of a bitch up against a wall and shot him,” grunted Travers, who was sitting with his back against the bench with his single arm tucked across his chest. His mane of hair and thick beard seemed to have grown more since she had last seen him, reminding her of a lion. 

“He never actually breached the Cole Protocol. If he had, the situation would have warranted an execution,” Vivian responded as the occupants of the courtroom began to file out. “It was only an attempt.”

“A coward who was willing to put millions,  _ billions  _ of lives at risk, deserves to be shot.”

“If I was him, I’d rather be shot,” Jasmine said, sitting on Vivian’s opposite side. “Locked up in a cell for the rest of your life, however long it is, that’s much worse.”

“Whatever you say,” Travers grumbled. He stood up and stretched. “What a bore. They ought to have tossed him in the slammer and skipped the trial. Come on Waters, back to the  _ I’m Alone _ , we’ve got business to attend to.” 

The courtroom was situated within Olympic Tower, one of the tallest structures in New Alexandria. It was home to a number of high profile projects and countless offices, primarily under the Officer of Naval Intelligence. But there were JAG Corps offices, PERSCOM facilities, and one of the Internal Audit’s departments. The UNSC Marine Corps Judge Advocate Division also had several facilities within the tower. Even the Army and Air Force had personnel and installations within its halls. 

Travers and Jasmine went ahead in the crowd. Traveling down the busy hallways of the tower. Nathaniel and his group passed, but Vivian saw that he paused, and she went over to him.

“Didn’t expect you and your squad to be here,” she said after an exchange of salutes.

The Sergeant shrugged slightly. 

“We’ve been conducting maneuver training on the plains. If we weren’t, we would have been here every day; we didn’t want to miss it.” 

“I take it you like cop shows, don’t you?”

“It felt like the place to be. Oswald was guilty and we wouldn’t mind seeing that Captain Hugh on the chopping block next. We talked about it ourselves and we were there to support you: you got us out of there.”

“I appreciate your coming,” she said. At that moment, she looked past him. His squad were loitering outside one of the JAG Corps offices, lighting and smoking cigarettes while they talked quietly to one another. A Navy department civilian secretary stepped out, clad in a white shirt and black pencil skirt. 

“Excuse me, there’s no smoking allowed in Olympic Tower.”

“Fuck off, lady,” growled one of the Marines, a stocky Scotsman. The secretary huffily retreated back into the office. Nathaniel watched the affair and sighed. Vivian smiled a little. 

“And I appreciate their coming as well,” she said, her tone slightly comedic. “Although, you might want to get them out of here before they end up in a courtroom.”

“Terrans tend to be a little set in their ways,” he offered meekly. “A bit too much pride in where they come from, I think.”

“I heard your entire regiment is from Earth.”

“You strike me as somebody from the Colonies.”

“Inner, Outer, Outer, Inner?” Vivian mused. Frost rubbed his chin and squinted, pretending to be in deep thought. “Skopje, Inner Colonies.”

He blinked, his gray eyes lighting up in surprise. 

“Really? I’ve—”

“Waters!” Vivian turned around and saw Jasmine and Travers standing in the hall. The latter waved. “We’ve got shit to do!”

Vivian grimaced at him over her shoulder then turned back to the Marine. He was snickering. 

“He’s like that dad who takes every opportunity to embarrass his kid when he’s dropping them off at school.”

“Thank goodness we’re not in school anymore,” Vivian said. They saluted one another. “I’ll see you on the ship, Sergeant.”

Vivian walked beside Jasmine and they both followed Rear Admiral travers through the halls of Olympic Tower. Eventually, they arrived at one of the extended landing pads for aircraft. The Rear Admiral activated a key, the door opened, and the pad slowly slid out. With a mechanical groan, it came to a stop. 

“Are you coming Jasmine?”

“My parents are working at one of the Navy hospitals; I thought I’d go see them, but I decided to see you off first.”

“Then I’ll see you back at the ship,” Vivian said. The two friends smiled, saluted, and parted ways. Vivian remained with Travers, standing in the open entryway to the landing pad. The setting sun cast an orange hue on the sleek white buildings and complementing blue glasswork. Interspaced between the buildings were verdant parks rife with lush green grass, tall trees, and flowery gardens. Streams of pedestrians crossing footbridges and filling sidewalks looked like lines of ants. Cars were in gridlock on the roads and MagLev trains weaved around and within the city. Shuttles, military ships, and civilian cargo vessels arrived at one of the ports or ascended into orbit. A formation of Army Aviation Falcons passed every so often, their exposed troop bays packed with heavily armed and armored soldiers. The sea around New Alexandria possessed a dark glimmer and the snow capped mountains in the far distance began to glitter in a warm pink hue. Cold wind drifted in between the skyscrapers and orbital elevators. 

Honking horns, whirring industrial equipment, and buzzing VTOL aircraft filled the air. Vivian heard a deep engine roar, looked up, and saw an aged colony freighter equipped with thrusters heading to the shipbreaking yards. At the same time, a beautiful  _ Paris _ -class frigate ascended from one of the docks. It reminded Vivian too much of home. 

“I’ve been doing a lot of talking with the brass at HIGHCOM and FLEETCOM, as well as those snakes in ONI Sec-Three. You’ll be happy to know none of them even considered canceling the project. By the end of the week, you’ll be back in space.”

It was a relief to hear even though she suspected already the task unit was not going to be killed in its crib. 

“I’ve put you in for the Silver Star, too. You put a lot on the line and you saved many lives. It’s worthy of a decoration.”

“Yes, sir,” Vivian said. It was a high decoration, but Vivian was more concerned with their operational capacity.

“I take it you’ve found a suitable replacement for Oswald, sir,” Vivian said, folding her hands behind her back. 

“We have.”

“Is it you?”

“I would kill for an assignment like this. You’re just a kid who's still got the shine on her oak leaves. You don’t know what it’s like to have your wings clipped.” Then, he shook his head. “No, it’s not me.”

“Who, then?”

Travers grinned at her, stepped forward, and looked at her knowingly. 

“I’ve taken a lot of time to speak with the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ crew. The bridge officers, your senior enlisted man, engineering, intelligence, the Marines and ODSTs, and even the AI. Seems like everybody’s singing the same tune about the ship’s executive officer rising to the occasion, saving a lot of lives, and getting them back on their feet. They’re saying this XO is determined, aggressive, and kind. You wouldn’t happen to know who I’m talking about.”

Vivian knew exactly who he was talking about. Underneath her placid expression, she felt a pit in her gut. Her heart began to pound, leaping between her chest and her throat. Slowly, she began to feel hollow like a ship being broken up for scrap; first the interior was entirely removed, leaving just the titanium husk. Piece by piece, the hull was harvested and all that remained were bones. Standing there, staring at Travers, seeing his mouth move but her ears deaf to his words, Vivian wanted to say no. More than that, she wanted to run away and hide in her cabin. Everything leading up to this moment flashed before her, from the night her friends were slain to the day she graduated from OCS.

She swallowed hard to alleviate her dry mouth. Once again, she was being pushed down the pipe. Vivian didn’t have the proper educational degree nor attended any of the training designed for such advancement. A promotion, and not just any promotion: officer commanding of a task unit. It was more responsibility she ever had in her life and she never expected it so soon. Tens of thousands of lives would be riding on her every decision. People would die upon her orders. Battles would be lost or won due to her strategy. If she failed, nobody would return home. Only at this moment, with the weight and gravity of her new rank descending on her, was she aware of her lack of agency. A fool entered the military expecting to operate carefree and wild; she knew many of the decisions based on her career would be out of her hands. Although she expected it, it was still an incredible shock, a blow to her heart, knowing that she had absolutely no say in the matter. 

“No, sir, I don’t know you’re talking about.”

Travers’ grin widened, making him appear less like a lion and more of a shark. 

“It’s you.”

Vivian squirmed and hoped he didn’t notice. Travers reached into his pocket and pull out a small box. It had a traditional wooden finished and when he opened it the inner lining was black. Sitting in the center were several silver pins for the collar and shoulder pads; all were in the shape of an eagle with a shield as its center. Clutched in its talons were a bundle of arrows. From his pocket, the Rear Admiral also produced a pair of golden vertical bars for the collar and similarly colored stripes for the cuffs and shoulders. “Get those on later before you’re cited for being out of uniform.” He handed them over and Vivian took them gently from his grasp. “Congratulations, Captain Waters.”

She felt honored and terrified all at the same time. 

“Thank you, sir,” she responded stiffly. 

“The  _ I’m Alone’s  _ yours, and you’ll be in command of the entire task unit. The commanders of  _ Burnside _ ,  _ Lion’s Den _ , and  _ Determined Guardian  _ will be under your command despite their experience.”

“I doubt they’ll be happy about that,” Vivian said. 

“We'll find out. We’re going to see them now.”

Not long after, a Pelican touched down. It made a one hundred-eighty degree turn as it did; the landing gear extended and the rear hatch opened. Travers climbed in first and Vivian followed.

The Pelican ride was a short one, taking them across the city to one of the joint command bases located on the surface. Primarily, it was an Army facility but the higher traffic for sister services in the UNSC meant it housed personnel from all branches. Dozens of hangars lined multiple runways and there were rows of barracks. Falcons, Hornets, Pelicans, and Albatrosses lined the tarmac. In the oversized motor pool, Scorpion tanks sat tread to tread and hundreds of Warthogs were neatly lined up. Infantrymen conducted PT or exited the base for maneuver training, while logistical crews transported munitions and loads of supplies across the base. Most of the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ Marine and ODST complement were currently housed at the base.

Despite the length of the journey, Vivian found the silence uncomfortable. If Travers was aware of her dismay, he didn’t show. He leaned out of the Pelican’s rear hatch, observing the ground below. Then, the Pelican banked wide to starboard. The rear hatch closed and the cabin pressurized. Soon, the dropship began to ascend to orbit. Soon, the gloomy sky shifted to the starry darkness of space. Soon, silver objects loomed in the Pelican’s windscreen. One of Reach’s anchors came into view; around it was the  _ I’m Alone  _ and the rest of the task unit’s ship.

The pilot requested and was granted permission to enter the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ hangar. The landing was smooth and the hatch soon opened. Activity in the hangar was greater than she expected. When she looked at Travers, he smiled. “Some last minute retrofits. You should see the work being done on the other ships; their housing accommodations, weapon systems, and reactor complexes are getting overhauled per the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ dimensions. Most of it won’t be an exact carbon copy, but it’ll be close enough and give them a matching edge.”

Vivian just nodded and followed him to the bridge. When they arrived, they found the bridge officers at their stations and six more Naval officers talking among themselves. One of them was Captain Hugh who was a bald, portly man with beady eyes, a thick nose, and an unkempt black mustache. With him was his executive officer, an Australian a few years older than Vivian; he was Commander Kelly. He possessed short blonde hair, somewhat tan skin, and two deep blue eyes. They were from the  _ Burnside _ . Beside them was Commander Alastair of  _ Determined Guardian  _ and her executive officer Lieutenant Andrada. Vivian remembered the former, as she was the daughter of one of her navigation instructors at Luna OCS. She was an Outer Colonist, a descendant from Ethiopan immigrants. Her dark hair was done up in a regulation bun and she had a pair of bright brown eyes, complementing her long, firm features. Andrada was a Terran from the Philippines; her face was soft but her brown eyes were hard. Finally, there was the  _ Lion’s Den _ Commander Kolchak and his XO, Lieutenant Kato. Kolchak was a Terran as well, a Siberian who came from the Nivkh people. He was muscular but not of a large build, with mud-colored hair, hazel eyes, and pronounced features. Kato was half-Japanese, black of hair, and inherited his father’s sparkling blue eyes.

Salutes were exchanged and Travers stepped into the middle. “Alright, bridge crew, clear off!” Travers barked. Immediately, they departed and left the ships’ officers alone. Hugh immediately stepped up to the senior officer. 

“Admiral travers, it’s so good to—”

“Shut up,” Travers said blankly. “Alright, you lot, tell me you’ve read the information packet and you understand the nature of this task unit.”

“Yes, sir!” the officers exclaimed. 

“Your ships were selected to the exemplary service records of both the current crews and the ships themselves...” he cast a wary eye towards Hugh. “...for the most part. Commander Waters has been promoted to Captain and she’ll be master of the  _ I’m Alone _ . As well, she'll be in command of the task unit. She only answers to me, and you’ll answer to her. Is that clear?”

Again, Hugh spoke up.

“Sir, I don’t mean to be disrespectful regarding your decision decision, but Commander Waters—”

“Captain,” Travers corrected.

“Her experience is quite limited. She has only one combat action under her belt. 

“She has only been out of Office Candidate School for almost three months. She has only one minor combat action under her belt. Commanders Kolchak and Alastair have been serving for the better part of seven years, and I myself ten years. While I don’t object to her promotion to captain of the  _ I’m Alone _ , shouldn’t I as the ranking captain be in command of the task force.”

Travers took a threatening step towards him and jabbed a finger into his body.

“I don’t listen to gripes from officers who fail their fitness exams, Captain Hugh, nor ones who sit idly by while UNSC forces sustain Covenant attacks. As far as I’m concerned, you should have been put on trial as well. Count your lucky stars you weren’t reported. So suck it up.” 

Travers looked at the other officers. “Anybody  _ else  _ have any objections, questions, or comments they’d like to share?” Nobody uttered a word. “Good,” he seethed. 

A brief, tense moment of silence followed. Vivian cleared his throat and turned to Travers. 

“Sir, may I take my first action as task unit commander?”

“By all means,” Travers said, holding up his arm. Vivian nodded and turned to Hugh. 

“Captain Hugh, you are hereby relieved of your command.” Everyone shared a glance. Hugh’s eyes widened and his jaw fell open. He looked around at the others. 

“What?”

“I won’t tolerate a lack of aggressiveness among officers under my command. You made decisions based on assumption rather than strategy. I find myself unable to allow a captain who ignored countless pleas for assistance. You will not remain in this task unit.”

“This...this is an outrage! An outrage and a disgrace!” 

“I hope it is,” Vivian said menacingly, “now gather your belongings, make your farewell address, and report to FLEETCOM at Olympic Tower. Decatur, arrange transport for Captain Hugh, please.”

Briefly, the blue hologram appeared and saluted. 

“Right away, ma’am!”

Sputtering and red in the face, Hugh stormed off. Everyone watched him leave; once the door slid shut behind him, they looked back at Vivian. She turned her attention back to the  _ Burnside’s  _ executive officer. 

“Commander Kelly.”

“Ma’am!” 

“I was informed by  _ Burnside’s  _ bridge staff you asked Captain Hugh to commence combat operations in support of the surface engagement during the Battle of Ambition. You were threatened with charges of insubordination and a court martial. I saw the battle plans drafted by your own hand. Your CSV is impressive as well.” She turned to Travers. “It is my recommendation Commander Kelly be promoted to the rank of Captain and given command of the  _ Burnside _ .”

Travers grinned and turned to Kelly. 

“That sit well with you, son?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Kelly answered, doing his best to mask the satisfied expression he was wearing. 

“Then I’ll get it done.”

“Submit a new name for the  _ Burnside  _ and once I grant approval, I’ll see that it’s registered.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

“We’ll begin drafting fleet strategies in the morning,” Vivian said to the remaining officers. “We’ll confer on the bridge of the  _ I’m Alone.  _ Please bring records of your previous fleet operations and engagements, as well as any essays, theories, or any supporting materials you feel are necessary. Questions?”

Nobody spoke. “You may return to your ships; please send me an update on the status of your crews and your ships’ retrofits at the earliest convenience. Dismissed.”

The officers left the bridge. Only Travers and Vivian remained; the former turned and whistled. 

“Guess I made the right choice.”

Vivian exhaled. Taking command from Oswald felt easy compared to this. Under duress, there was no time to think; she had to act. Here, her decisions came naturally and quickly, but she was still unnerved by her own ruthlessness. While serving in various billets in the UNSC Home Fleet, she had to deal with disciplinary and performance issues, but never to the degree of court martialing or dismissing a service member. 

“Hugh’s a liability, an empty uniform who will cause damage down the line,” she said, more to justify the action to herself rather than to Travers. The Rear Admiral’s shark grin returned. 

“A good leader needs to find a balance between tactical ingenuity, charisma, selflessness, and ruthlessness.” He nodded towards the door. “Good leaders get decent accommodations. I’ve already had your belongings sent to the Captain’s cabin. Let’s go.” 

The journey to the cabin was swift. It was much larger than the executive officer’s accommodations. Three quarters of the rectangular space was devoted to living space. A bulkhead and doorway sectioned it off from a sizable office space. A desk was in the center of the office with a terminal, data pad dock, and lamp beside it. Beside it was an AI pedestal and the bulkhead opposite from the divider was a monitor utilized for video feeds. Underneath the monitor were rows of filing cabinets for hard-copy documents.

Travers led Vivian through the door. Against the far bulkhead was a full-size mattress adorned with white sheets and an olive drab comforter. Her duffel bags were resting on the end. Next to it was a lamp atop a nightstand connected both to the bed frame and the bulkhead. Wrapping around the cabin was a dresser, a small table with a coffee machine and mugs, and beside it was a small fridge. On the opposite side of the cabin was a personal desk with her private terminal. Beside it was another door which led to the bathroom which proved to be larger than the one in her original quarters.

“This looks more like a four star apartment than a Captain’s cabin.”

“I could have the engineers turn it back into a shoebox, would you like that?”

“It’s just new and unexpected, sir.”

“It sure is new, they only finished this morning.” He stroked his beard as he leaned against the door frame. “Consider it my way of saying thank you for proving this ship is worth UEG taxpayer credits. And for getting Oswald off my back. Oh, one more thing.”

Vivian followed him back into the office. He opened the bottom drawer on the left which proved to be largest and deepest. Out of it he pulled a small box; setting it on the desk, he popped the lid open.

“Sweet Williams Cigars?” Vivian asked, quirking an eyebrow at the box.

“And this,” Travers reached in and pulled up a bottle of scotch. The amber liquid sloshed around inside as he set it down beside the cigar box. “Every Navy captain ought to have a little liquor and cigar stash for the battles they win.”

“I don’t smoke, sir.”

“But you’re old enough to drink.” Travers reached back in and pulled two shining shot glasses out with his index and middle fingers. Using his teeth, he pulled the cork out and filled the glasses by a quarter each. He handed one to Vivian and then picked up the other. Vivian eyed it warily. “Oh come on, now. I heard you were a bit of a straightedge, but don’t tell me you didn’t get your older pals to buy beer and then get wasted in your parents’ basement.”

“I take it you have,” Vivian said flatly. Travers threw his head back and laughed. 

“I’m a wonderful drunk, so I’ve been told. Come on, it’s an occasion. To your promotion and future victories.” 

They downed their drinks at the same time. It burned down her throat and roiled in her gut. Then, it settled and Vivian felt comfortably warm.

Travers took the liberty of refilling his glass and took another slug. “I envy you a great deal, Waters. You’re young, you’re fresh, you’ve got your own ship, your best friend on board, and a crew that adores you.”

A strange sadness gripped his face. His muddy-colored eyes seemed to droop and his amicable expression sagged. “It was one hell of a feeling, going to war with your best friends. It made me feel invincible, unstoppable, like nothing could touch you. That doesn’t last for long. All my friends are dead now. It’s just me, now.” He glanced at his missing arm and scoffed. “What’s left of me, anyways.”

He looked at her, his expression becoming serious. “I don’t have another shot, Waters. But this is yours, and it’s the first of many. I know you’ll make the most of it.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“I’m on Reach until you set sail, so if you need me, I’m just a message away. I’m quartered at Camp Pegahmagabow.”

“You’re free to use my original quarters if you’d prefer to stay on the  _ I’m Alone  _ for the time being.”

“Kind of you, Waters, but no thanks. Your ship now, and it won’t look good if I’m hovering around. Besides, I’m going to be busy selecting an officer as your XO. Better to select an individual from outside the ship so the crew doesn’t have to change their roles.” 

“Yes, sir.”

Rear Admiral Travers nodded and walked out of the cabin. He seemed to sag and his head hung a bit lower than usual. Vivian set the glass down and walked to the door, watching him trundle down the hall. As he did, she was reminded of the lonely decommissioned ship heading for the shipbreaking yards. When he was out of sight, she corked the bottle, closed the box, put both into the darer, and went to her private room to rest.


	15. Condemnation, Pt. 2

Jasmine approached the door to the captain’s cabin and gently rapped her knuckles against it. A minute passed by without response. She checked her wrist watch; it was early in the morning, but not too early. She tended to be an early riser and knew Vivian was too. Again, she knocked. 

“Coming,” came Vivian’s groggy, muffled answer. A moment later the door slid open revealing the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ new commanding officer. She was clad in a pair of black PT shorts and a white tank top. Dark bags hung under her eyes and there was crust at each corner. Her dirty blonde hair, free from a regulation bun, was messy, frazzled, and wild. Still waking up, she was slightly stooped over.

Jasmine blinked, grinned, and covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing. When she finally suppressed, she readjusted her glasses and smiled amicably at her friend. 

“Congratulations on your promotion, Captain Waters,” she said. “How was your first night in the cabin? Did you sleep well?”

A long span of silence passed between the two friends. 

“What do you think?” Vivian asked slowly, her voice thick with fatigue. 

“New responsibilities tend to be rather stressful.”

“You try sleeping in the bed of a man who just got sentenced to life in prison.”

The corner of Jasmine’s mouth twitched. 

“Did it smell or something?”

Finally, Vivian cracked a smile and she laughed a little bit.

“Get in here. Coffee coming up.”

The pair passed through the office and went into the bedroom. Vivian was shuffling her feet and remained slightly hunched over. Stopping by the brewing station, she glared menacingly at the coffee pot as if her gaze would make it brew faster. Jasmine took a moment to turn around and looked at the room entirely. It was bigger than hers with higher quality furnishings. Granted, Jasmine did not spend much time in her own quarters. The medical wing was so busy even when it lacked patients, she found it easier to sleep in her office where she was easily accessible by her personnel rather than in the confines of her quarters located deep within the  _ I’m Alone _ . For the time being, she settled with a blanket and pillow on the leather couch in her office, although she was planning to smuggle in a spare mattress when time allowed. 

“Your parents doing well?” Vivian asked, still staring at the coffee pot. 

“Yep. Dad just got promoted and mom just got a new team. They’re pretty busy but we were able to get dinner together.”

“I’m glad you were able to see them, it’s been a long time.”

“They said they’ll sleep easier knowing you’re in charge of the ship I’m on.”

“That’s sweet, I think.” 

Jasmine turned back to Vivian and walked up beside her.

“I’m sorry to say this, but I actually knew you were getting promoted. Travers told me yesterday morning before we went to the trial. I should have told you, or at least stayed, I’m sorry.”

“How dare you, friendship canceled, get out of my rooooom,” Vivian moaned and then laughed. She raised her fist and gingerly punched Jasmine in the shoulder; it didn’t hurt in the slightest. “Don’t worry about it, Jas.”

The coffee maker pinged and Vivian took the pot by the handle. Taking one of the white mugs from the slot on the left, she filled it up to the brim. Steam rose from the mug. Vivian took hers black, much to Jasmine’s disgust. Taking another mug out, she filled it up three-quarters of the way. Once she set the pot down, she added two spoonfuls of sugar from a squat jar and a hint of creamer. Jasmine could only smile; Vivian knew just how she liked her coffee. 

As the scent of the strong brew filled up the cabin, they went back into the office. Vivian sat down at her desk and Jasmine took the seat on the opposite side. Both held their mugs with both hands and smelled the contents almost at the same time. Both sighed, took a careful sip, and sat back in their chairs. For a while, they remained silent and sipped at their drinks every so often. It was calm and pleasant. 

Eventually, Vivian broke the silence. “Travers said he was going to find me a new XO. I trust him to pick someone good, but I’d rather it be someone I know. Care for a job?”

“I’m already responsible for the health of several thousand people’s health and I’m in administrative command of an entire battlegroup’s medical matters as well. I’d rather not leave that in someone else’s hands.”

“Relax, I was joking,” Vivian muttered. A moment later, she looked back up. “I think you’d be really good at it.”

“No,” Jasmine chimed, leaning forward and propping her chin atop her hand. Vivian just chuckled before staring into her steaming coffee mug. 

She didn’t look like a Navy captain at that moment. Recruitment kiosks always had advertisements on the screen showing well-kempt, young or middle-aged, and utterly beautiful people in handsome uniforms. Each one was robust of health; men possessed broad chests and women were curvy and shapely in their dress uniform. While Vivian was indeed young and far more beautiful than Jasmine could ever hope to be, she was frazzled, exhausted, a bit on the thin side, and entirely out of uniform in her office. In a way, she still looked like that teenager fresh out of high school after the first night in the Luna OCS dormitory. Disheveled but gorgeous, stressed out but still capable. Even if she only managed to get an hour’s worth of sleep, Vivian was the type of person who could run a marathon the next day. Were it not so astounding to Jasmine, she would have found herself far more jealous of her friend. 

Leaning forward a bit more to catch Vivian’s attention, she met her emerald eyes. “I think you’re going to do great.”

“You sound like a mother reassuring her socially awkward daughter on her first day of school.

“Good one, come up with it on your own?”

“Give a few minutes, I’ll come up with something funnier,” Vivian sighed, sitting back in her seat. “It’s a promotion. One day or another, it was going to happen. Just have to accept it and move on. We'll be voyaging back into enemy territory once our ships are squared away. Everybody has to be ready, including me.”

Her tone was resolute, her emerald eyes now focused, her posture becoming stronger. It was like watching someone catch their second wind. But a moment later, she exhaled and shook her head. “Do you know what that bastard Hugh said? Cited my lack of experience in front of all the other commands. It wasn’t even embarrassing because he’s  _ right.  _ All I’ve done is hop from ship to ship in the Home Fleet. Almost every single member of the crew has seen action. One successful combat action isn’t the best endorsement.”

“I think your service record doesn’t mean as much to them as what you did while you were acting captain. They trust you.”

Vivian stared at Jasmine for a few moments, smiled, and then laughed a little. 

“What a bunch of fools.” Vivian finished her coffee, sighed loudly, and set it down heavily on her desk. “Let me freshen up and then we’ll get some breakfast.”

While Vivian showered, Jasmine worked on her data pad. She always kept it in the larger inner pocket of her whtie lab coat. She managed to review some surgical cases on the few critical casualties still on the  _ I’m Alone _ , all of which were successful. After filing them, she quickly wrote up a report and sent it to the medical facility on Reach the cases were being transferred to. Finally, she issued standing orders to all her surgeons reminding them it was important that all the operating rooms must be extensively sterilized post-op. Just because they were doctors, they were still Naval officers and in charge of a unit. They were to oversee the cleaning operation, not skimp out on it. 

Just as she closed her data pad, Vivian came out of her cabin in her uniform. It was crisp, the gray tunic nearly catching light. Her new pins and insignias were on her collar and shoulders. She was just putting her blonde locks, still a bit wet, in a bun as she closed the door behind her. After a moment, when Jasmine didn’t say anything, Vivian shrugged and held out her arms. Holding up one finger, Jasmine rotated it in a circle. Sighing, Vivian turned around entirely. When she faced Jasmine again, she planted her hands on her hips and glared at her. 

“That uniform’s looking a little tight,” Jasmine teased.

“Don’t,” Vivian said as she went to the door. “Just  _ don’t _ .”

Suppressing her laughter again, Jasmine walked side by side her down the corridor. They rode the elevator down to Zero Deck and made their way to the mess hall. When the doors opened, Jasmine watched as Vivian’s eyes widened. Packed into the hall were members of the crew, ODSTs, and Marines. Everyone began to whistle, cheer, and clap. The applause grew so loud it sounded like thunder. Walking just behind Vivian, Jasmine watched her look back and forth, a stupefied smile tugging at her pink lips. She waved at some of the officers she knew, shook the hands of enlisted men, and returned salutes. As they passed Sergeant Frost and his men, he winked at Vivian and shook her hand. When he caught Jasmine’s eyes, he nodded amiably, and Jasmine returned it. 

Eventually, the applause began to subside. Vivian came to a stop in the center of the hall. When it finally grew silent, Vivian still did not speak a word. Jasmine came up behind her, hands in her lab coat pockets, and discreetly prodded her with her elbow. 

“Speech,” she hissed. 

For a brief moment, Vivian looked horrified. But she puffed up her chest, gazed around sternly, and then approached the long table where Sergeant Frost and his Marines sat. With a little help, she climbed on top and folded her hands behind her back. 

“All I can say is thank you,” Vivian began, her voice already loud and commanding, but complemented by an undertone of gratitude. “It’s more than an honor, it’s a privilege to take command of this ship. UNSC Officers ask their crew to act bravery and efficiently. But I won’t: I know what can you do and I know you can do it better than any other ship in the entire Navy. I promise I won’t ever put you in a position in which you have to choose between your duty and what is right. I promise that no matter what kind of peril we find ourselves in, we’ll endure it together. I promise we’ll see action, we’ll work as a team to achieve victory, and that we’ll bleed the Covenant dry. When it’s over, we’ll all go home: together.”

At this, the men and women of the  _ I’m Alone  _ exploded into applause, whistling, and cheering once more. Jasmine had removed herself to the periphery and was watching. She was proud of her friend, but more than that, she was relieved. For the first time in many years, it was the first time Vivian looked happy.

***

Life while docked at an orbital anchor was a boring, tedious one. Reports were sent, filed, and reviewed. Inventory stocks were checked and doubled checked. Personnel were assigned, reassigned, transferred to new teams and departments. The administrative pileup that came with the position was akin to a literal mountain of paperwork. Jasmine managed it all as best she could on her administrative day, but it was still an arduous process. After making decent headway, she closed her message threads to other officers under her command, opened a text document on her office terminal, and began typing. 

Vivian had made a thorough inspection of the  _ I’m Alone _ , conferred with her bridge staff, inspected the reactor complex, spoken with their ONI, Marine, and ODST complemented, communicated with the other ship commanders in their task unit, and was now attending administrative duties of her own. She sat on the opposite side of Jasmine’s desk, busily working on a pair of data pads. 

Both had another mug of steaming coffee beside them as well as countless hard copy paper reports. Every so often, they stopped typing long enough to take a sip. When Vivian set her mug back down, she looked around. Jasmine noticed but continued working. “I might be the captain but your officer is  _ way  _ better than mine,” Vivian said, her tone now somewhat jovial. 

“We’re still at Reach, there’s always a little time to order some furniture and spruce the place up.”

“I don’t think the UNSC Navy is inclined to use their budgeting to provide furnishing to one captain.”

“Travers would be. He has a way of talking to the brass and getting things out of ONI Sec-Three. I get it though, play it safe. But I mean, come on, at least get a painting or something.”

“We’re not allowed to hang up paintings. It says that somewhere in the handbook.”

“Do you think the Oversight Committee is going to send someone to check in the next few days?”

“Playing it safe here, Jas.”

“My parents must have some spare furniture. Maybe we could find a way to get it on the  _ I’m Alone _ .”

Vivian smirked and shook her head. 

“Don’t put ideas in my head.” Vivian worked for a little longer, than she shook her head again and laughed. Setting her data pad down on the desk, she leaned back in her chair, still chuckling. “Look at us, we’re like a couple of prissy high school grads ordering furniture for their apartment.”

“Like second year at OCS,” Jasmine said into her mug. After taking a drink, she clasped her hands together and rested her elbows on the edge of her desk. “Could you imagine if we have kids and they went to OCS.”

“Hopefully, they’ll do something a lot smarter than that.”

“That’s what any parent would hope for. But kids never listen to their parents.”

“And  _ that’s  _ why we’re in the Navy,” Vivian said. Both smiled at one another again before returning to her work. Jasmine began typing on her terminal again. Instead of drafting a report, she began writing an essay. When it came to academia, Jasmine did not need to do a great deal of organizing or drafting. Often, she already had an idea that fermented in her head and when she was ready to put it on paper, she knew exactly what she wanted to say. Typing at nearly one hundred words a minute, her fingers nearly danced across the keyboard and she became so focused she began leaning towards the monitor. 

Eventually, she nearly had to take a breath. Sitting back, she sighed a little and cracked her knuckles. Looking up, she saw Vivian offering a mildly surprised expression. “I haven’t seen you type like that since OCS.”

“I’m trying to turn out a paper on infantry psychology and the need to provide constant therapeutic care for cases of post traumatic stress, both during the war and post-war.”

“Already thinking that far ahead, huh?”

“We have to. One day, the war will end.”

“It won’t be tomorrow,” Vivian said, almost gravely. 

Jasmine had already started typing but her fingers froze just above the keys. Looking up slightly, she regarded Vivian for a time. The Captain already returned to her work, glancing between both data pads, tapping keys, sending messages, filing reports, responding to internal shipwide correspondence. She seemed so serious at the moment. Looking back at her monitor, Jasmine suddenly felt like she was doing some infantile and distracting. Saving the file and closing the typing tool, she returned to her original work. 

Not long after, there was a knock on the door. When it slid open, it revealed Colonel Hayes in his utility uniform as well as his eighteen point cover. 

“Pardon the intrusion, I was hoping to have a word with you, Captain Waters.”

“If the good doctor doesn’t mind,” Vivian said, looking up at Jasmine. She nodded. Vivian put down her data pad, stood up, and turned to face Hayes. “Then by all means, Colonel.” 

“A ceremony is going to be held in two days at Camp Pegahmagabow. Men and women cited for valor, bravery, and commendations are going to receive their awards. It was going to be an all Marine show but I was made aware by Rear Admiral Travers some of the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ crew have been put in. I was hoping we could make it a joint Marine-Navy show to cement the relationship between sister services before we set off.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“I understand you’re going to be receiving the Silver Star, but I think it might be beneficial if some of the Marines receive their awards from you. I think they’d appreciate that.”

“Well, once I have the medal on my chest, I’d be happy to oblige,” Vivian said, trying to sound somewhat cavalier rather than embarrassed.

“I’m very happy to hear that, Captain. I’ll work with Travers to work out the remaining arrangements.”

There was an exchange of salutes and then the senior officer left. Vivian turned around and looked at Jasmine, who could only smile. 

“Don’t worry,” the doctor assured her, “I don’t think you’ll get stage fright after that performance in the mess hall.”

* * *

Camp Pegahmagabow seemed so small from the vantage point in the Pelican. Now that Vivian found herself within its walls, she realized just how massive the installation was. Numerous automated towers were fixated to columns on the high walls. Army infantrymen lined the ramparts. Masses of vehicles parked bumper to bumper filled the depots and aircraft of various types were in rows next to the airfields. Air Force personnel tended to their aircraft, providing repairs and restocking munitions. Overhead, formations of Falcons buzzed by and the occasional low-flying Longsword. The sheer amount of manpower and firepower was enough to make any UNSC officer’s mouth water. Just by being around personnel from all the service branches, Vivian felt stronger more than ever before. 

Adjacent to the airfield was a wide, green field reserved for formations and PT exercises. Although it was well-trodden, the grass was lush and kept very well. A small stage of synthetic wood paneling was erected at the northern end. Three steps led up to it on each end. On either side of the podium in the center was a set of four fags: one for the Army, another for the Marine Corps, a third for the Navy, and the final for the Air Force. Directly behind the podium a large olive banner of the UNSC’s logo hung on a brass pole. In front of the flags were chairs reserved for Rear Admiral Travers, Colonel Hayes, Lieutenant Colonel Melendez, and Vivian.

Already, a cadre of civilian news reporters and correspondents as well as ONI Section-Two and branch specific news media were gathered as well. Camera drones floated around and reports spoke into their microphones in front of each one. On the green itself were rows and rows of foldable chairs. So many personnel were attending from both the  _ I’m Alone  _ and the Army and Air Force personnel from Ambition not all the chairs could fit on the green. Men and women disembarking from Pelicans streaming from orbit made their way with their units and took their seats. 

Although it was a ceremony, nobody was in their dress uniforms. Commissioned officers of the Navy wore their gray uniforms, while Army and Air Force officers wore olive drab iterations. Marine officers and enlisted men were content with their utility uniforms. But all were trimmed and refreshed. Everyone looked sharp and properly military. Save for the new scars, none looked as though they fought in a recent battle. 

Vivian was seated on the right side of the podium, second from the podium. Travers sat beside her, his single hand resting on his thigh. Although he still wore a beard and his hair was rather long, he still appeared dignified. Once everyone was assembled an adjutant came up, whispered into his ear, and then exited the stage. With that, Travers stood up, gripped the podium, and leaned forward to speak into the microphone. 

“Ambition has been lost. Some might call that a defeat. But before me I see thousands upon thousands of faces. Men and women who fought hard, who fought well, and fought bravely. Today, our greatest resource is not a planet, a ship, or a Smart AI. They are the servicemen and women of the UNSC. You are warriors fighting for the greatest cause ever encountered in human history: our survival. With such a grave task heaped upon us, a decoration might seem almost trivial. Understand these medals carry centuries of sacrifice by the warriors who came before you. Wear them with honor, bear them with pride.”

After a brief pause, another officer from the left side of the stage approached with a chest. He opened it, displaying rows of glinting medals. Travers regarded it briefly before returning to the microphone. “For quick-thinking, decisive action, tactical aptitude, and utter selflessness in a combat situation in which thousands of lives were on the line, the President of the United Earth Government, authorized by action of the United Nations Space Command Security Council, hereby awards the Silver Star to Captain Vivian Waters.”

As the audience applauded, Vivian stood up deliberately, marched over to the podium, and stood at attention. Plucking the shimmering medal from the chest, Travers deftly pinned it to the left side of her chest. Then, he extended his hand. Vivian took it and they both turned to the cameras just below them. Dozens of cameras flashed and snapped, nearly dazzling her. 

When their hands part, Vivian turned to face the audience and stood on Travers' right. Colonel Hayes then stood up and moved to the Rear Admiral’s left. Then, the senior officer took a medal from the chest and handed it to Vivian. She instantly recognized it as the Navy Cross; the ribbon was a dark shade of blue with a single, thin white vertical column running down the center. The medal itself was a round version of the cross pattée. In the center was a UNSC  _ Marathon _ -class heavy cruiser. “For bravely destroying a Covenant super-heavy vehicle, heroically leading a last stand action, and arming a nuclear device to uphold the Cole Protocol at great personal risk to himself and his men, the President of the United Earth Government, authorized by action of the United Nations Space Command Security Council, here by awards the Navy Cross to Sergeant Nathaniel J. Frost.”

Vivian’s heart froze at the name. All of a sudden, the applause began to fade. Soon, it became deathly quiet even as Travers began to list the names of Marines and other personnel who were receiving the UNSC Gold Star. Below, the cameras flashed and countless servicemen and women clapped. Still, there was no sound. Images began to flashed across her vision. Dark scenes, interrupted by muzzle flashes. Blood splattered the walls, women screamed, bodies fell. White teeth, illuminated by the light, clenched tightly. Just as quickly, the images faded. Walking down the stage came Nathaniel, wearing his eighteen-point soft cover and his light green MARPAT utility uniform. His beard was trimmed and he was smiling handsomely. The sleeves of his blouse were rolled up all the way to the center of his biceps. Across the pocket on the left side of his chest, in bold black uppercase letters was the name: Frost. 

An English accented voice echoed and reverberated in her mind.  _ Not even a kidney, Frost? Not even a kidney, Frost? Not Even a kidney, Frost?  _ At times it sounded far away and at others, closer, as if the speaker was whispering right into her ear. Suddenly, he was in front of her, standing at attention. Vivian regarded him for what seemed like an eternity. His friendly, misty gray eyes met hers and he smiled wide, exposing his rows of white teeth. 

Slowly, Vivian reached up and pinned the medal to his chest, just above the pocket. As she retracted her hand, she could not help but sweep her fingers across his name. But she did not see it; instead, all she saw were the words, ‘Jack the Ripper.’ 

Her hand slid into his and he gripped it tightly. He leaned down slightly. 

“Thank you, Captain,” he said in a low tone. When he stood up, they both turned to the cameras and smiled. Vivian was not sure how she managed to. She felt outside herself, as if she was looking at what was happening on the stage. All she could see was him. Finally, she could see him.


	16. Blood, Old and New Pt. 1

“Decatur, could you please log off from my office?”

“At once, doctor.”

“I can’t believe it,” Vivian murmured, gripping the edge of Jasmine’s desk. Her emerald eyes were wide and her lips quivering. Her entire body was trembling. “It’s him. It’s him! It has to be him! Frost, it’s the same name I heard give years ago. I’m telling you, that’s the Marine who killed my friends!” 

Jasmine sat forward quickly and raised both hands. 

“Lower your voice! What if somebody hears you?”

“I don’t care,  _ I don’t care _ , he’s here on the ship, still alive after all these years. I’m going out there right now—” Vivian pointed at the door. “—I’m going to round up Major Holst and his ODSTs, and we’re going to throw that man in the smallest cell in the brig!”

Breathing heavily, Vivian turned her back on Jasmine and wrung her hands together. Her blood was still boiling after the awards ceremony the previous day. Never before had she experienced anger to this degree. She was so heated she felt like she was cooking alive. To have kept her cool on the stage and maintain the cordial, authoritative commanding officer of the  _ I’m Alone _ took every ounce of strength and restraint she possessed. That night, she was left alone in her cabin, head in hands, eyes wide, unable to sleep. Again and again, the memory replayed in her mind. She smelled seared flesh and acrid cordite as if the corpses and spent casings were right in front of her. Twice, she was forced into the bathroom to vomit from the stress roiling in her head. Having exhausted her patience, she was left panting like she was out of breath, nearly snarling like a rabid dog. She never wanted to wrap her hands around someone’s throat like she wanted to at that very moment. 

Just as she began to storm towards the door, Jasmine got up and stood in front of her. Throwing her arms up in frustration, Vivian began to pace back and forth across the medical chief’s office. Mulling it over, she questioned just how had the man she wished to find for so long ended up on her ship. The law of averages? Divine intervention? Luck? Or the concept of mere coincidence which supplanted all other facets if their existences were falsehoods. Unable to reach a conclusion, she decided ‘how,’ didn’t matter in the end. Finally, the opportunity to exact revenge was before her. She was furious, elated, and terrified at the same time. Tired as she was from a night without sleep, the dark bags under her eyes and her unkempt dirty blonde hair evidencing such, she felt energy that was absent for years. 

“Viv, I’m telling you, there’s  _ no way  _ it’s the same guy. It’s isn’t that uncommon of a last name. Do you know how many people are in the Colonies? Billions,  _ trillions!  _ How could you possibly tell if this is the same Frost from that night?”

“Who else could it be!?” Vivian asked exasperatedly. 

“There could be a thousand, tens of thousands, or hundreds of thousands of Frost’s in the Marine Corps. How can you already be certain? And how do you know it wasn’t a nickname or some kind of call sign?”

“It’s him. I know it is. I can feel it in my gut.”

“Your  _ gut  _ is not enough evidence to throw a man in prison.”

Vivian finally faced Jasmine. 

“Seven years. Seven long fucking years, I’ve waited, hoped, and dreamed of finding this man. This  _ thing  _ that killed and butchered my friends. Somehow, by some miracle, he’s on this ship, my ship, and now I can finally bring him to justice.”

“Don’t lie to me and tell me you’re going to do it clean. You told me yourself, your friends were joining terrorists and they were armed! What are you going to do, court martial him for doing his job? You have no case to make here. They could just as well turn it back on you and suspect you as being an Insurrectionist sympathizer. Then you’ll be the one who ends up behind bars.”

Vivian shook her head. 

“I know that!”

“So it’s vengeance, then? You're just going to shoot him in the head while he’s not looking?”

“Jasmine—”

“What will that change? I guarantee you it’s not going to make your trauma just disappear. Trauma doesn’t work like that, Vivian. It takes time, it takes effort, it takes help, and you’ve been resisting all these years.” Jasmine approached her and tried to touch her shoulders. Vivian angrily pushed them away and her friend took a few steps back but kept her hands raised. “I’m telling you, this may seem like something you want. But there’s nothing in the handbook that justifies what you want to do. There’s no law, nothing that can back you up.”

“And he had that?”

“He had orders! What you want to do, that’s murder.”

For a moment, the two friends stared at each other. Suddenly, Vivian found herself laughing. She laughed so hard she covered her mouth with her hand, and then ran her hands down her face. When she finally was able to stop she looked up at Jasmine. Her friend was staring back at her in confusion. 

“Murder? What kind of crazy fucking galaxy are we living in? Orders come down the chain, you study the rules of engagement, and these random people are the bad guys. You sweep in and shoot them. That’s not murder because you had orders to do it and those orders came from the top. Doesn’t matter that they’re teenage girls who are hot-tempered and energetic and make bad decisions. No, they’re the  _ enemy _ . But you try to kill somebody without orders and you’re a murderer. So, that’s the difference between murder and killing? Somebody saying it’s okay?”

Jasmine’s posture relaxed and she heaved a weary sigh. Removing her glasses, she rubbed the bridge of her nose between her index finger and thumb. When she finished and put her glasses back on, her stern expression returned. 

“You can’t reduce it like that. There are laws. Institutions. Insurrectionists are traitors and terrorists. This man is a Marine and you still don’t know if it was him or not. You don’t even know anything about him.”

“Yes, I do. His name’s Nathaniel Frost, he’s a Terran, and when I mentioned where I was from, he reacted like he heard of it before. That’s a strong indication.”

“No, it’s not, because even I’ve heard about Skopje before I met you.” Jasmine folded her arms across his chest. “The man I spoke with doesn’t strike me as some malicious, indiscriminate killer.”

Vivian blinked at Jasmine for a few moments. Jasmine must have realized how shocked she was and let her arms fall to her sides. Almost guilty, she averted her gaze, turned slightly, and looked at the floor. “I stood with him in the ship’s morgue while he stared at the body of his friend. He wanted to get him a blanket. A dead body’s just that, a body, a nonfunctioning series of nerves and synapses and organs. But he wanted to give that body a blanket. That’s love, Vivian.”

“You met this man, knew his name before me, and you didn’t think to tell me? I told you the name I heard that night!”

“I remember, but I can’t carry around your trauma for you. Don’t know you know what that would be like for me?” Jasmine asked, exasperated. Gritting her teeth, Vivian turned away and shook her head. She clenched her fists so tightly her hands trembled.

“Love? How can a man who can kill like that love?”

“He was ready to sacrifice himself to enact the Cole Protocol on Ambition. You admired him for it? Now, because you  _ think  _ it might be him, all of that’s gone? Can you really look me in the eye and tell me those beliefs, those emotions, are just gone? Wiped clean?”

“I was wrong!” Vivian shouted. 

“You’re really going to do this? Murder somebody just because he might be guilty?”

“If I kill him, I’ll avenge my friends.”

“That won’t change anything except the number of corpses. It won’t bring them back to life!”

“No, but I’ll finally have some peace!”

“You’ll never know peace again!”

The words struck her like a dagger made of ice. Perhaps they hurt so much because in the years they had passed, the thought crossed her mind. Jasmine might not have believed her, but there were times in the deepest, most desperate times of her torment, she wanted to let go. During those dire moments, it seemed far easier than holding onto the past. Every time, just as she began to synthesize her grief with her desire to live free from it, she saw the ghosts and fell back into it. Every time, she fell deeper than she had ever gone before. 

Her exhaustion digging in, Vivian staggered over to Jasmine’s desk and sat in the doctor’s chair. Propping her elbows against the edge of the desk, she held her head in her hands for a long time. Her breathing slowed down and she stopped shaking. Eventually, her head dropped from her hands and hung limply between her arms. 

She heard Jasmine walk over slowly. Looking to her side, she found her friend crouching beside her. Offering a kind smile, Jasmine reached up and put a hand on Vivian’s shoulder. 

“What am I supposed to do? Nothing? Nothing at all when there’s a chance, however slim it is?”

“Come here on my walk-in days. Sit with me. Talk with me. Let’s work through this together. I can’t promise you peace right away. But it’s time we really worked on this. If we can do that, we can get you out of the past and into the present.”

Before Vivian could speak, Jasmine raised her finger. “You have to promise me you won’t do anything rash. You’re a UNSC Navy officer; your crew, your ship, and your mission comes before everything else. Do not stoop to a level I know is beneath you. Promise me.”

“I...” Vivian’s eyes fell and her voice faltered. “...I promise. And I’m sorry I raised my voice at you.”

“It’s water on the bridge, Viv. Let’s move on and work.”

Vivian was finally able to smile. Just as she was about to speak, Jasmine’s terminal pinged with a notification. Getting up, Vivian allowed Jasmine to take her seat. “Looks like Decatur is requesting permission to connect to my office. What a polite AI.” She tapped in a message. A moment later, Decatur appeared on the AI pedestal. 

“Captain! Lieutenant Commander!” he cried, saluting. Both Vivian and Jasmine returned the gesture. “Captain, pardon my interruption but Rear Admiral Travers has come aboard. He requests your presence on the bridge!”

“I’ll be there momentarily. Thank you, Decatur.”

“Very good, Captain!” With a cheerful tip of his cap, the AI disappeared. Vivian began walking towards the exit. 

“Viv?”

“You made a promise. Please keep it.”

Vivian could only nod as she headed out the door. 

***

Storming through the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ halls, seamen looked like gray blurs as she passed by. Vivian couldn’t look at any of the Marines who were on security details in various compartments of the ship. If her gaze lingered, all she could see was him. Images flashed and raced through her mind; the shadow-faced youth, white teeth clenched and bared like a wolf’s. It was terrifying and enraging at the same time. Like fire ants crawling in her skull, they burned her and she couldn’t get them out. So consuming were her thoughts her vision seemed to darken. People disappeared, bulkheads vanished, and leading on was the phantom Marine. Flowing in and out of the shadows, he was soon replaced by five forms. They were shaped like young people, with voluminous hair that slithered like snakes, eyes white as milk, and blood coursing all over their bodies. It leaked onto the floor and trailed behind them. Each one closed in on her, silently demanding the phantom Marine’s blood to be shed in recompense. 

It didn’t stop until the doors to the bridge opened in front of her. With a blink, it was all gone. By the time she got her bearings, all of the bridge crew were standing up and saluting her. Feebly, she saluted back. 

“As you were,” she said. 

Every officer returned to their stations, tapping away their keyboards and registering data. Vivian couldn’t help but smile, appreciating their initiative to stay busy regardless of the commanding officer’s absence. 

Standing by the Captain’s console was Rear Admiral Travers, his one hand in his pocket. He turned around to face her, wearing a serious expression. 

“Skip the formalities. We've got a problem. The reinforcing fleet sent to Ambition has returned to Reach but they’re down one destroyer, the  _ Best of the Best _ . Apparently, there was a malfunction in their slipspace jump and they ended up in another system. They sent one single transmission, including their coordinates, but we haven’t had any direct communications or a comm-buoy transfer. We’re concerned they’re experiencing comms array issues. Standard protocol is not to initiate a slipspace jump if your comms are down. Once the final retrofits are installed aboard your ships, your task unit is to jump to their location, repair their comms suite, and then return to Reach. After she undergoes further repairs and retrofits,  _ Best of the Best  _ will be assigned to your task unit.”

“A destroyer, under my command?” 

“Quite the little armada, don’t you think? A regular titanium fist.”

Vivian turned to the AI pedestal. 

“Decatur, what’s the status of our retrofits.”

“Nearly complete across all ships. A detachment of engineers and radio specialists are coming aboard to repair the  _ Best of the Best.  _ We’re also receiving a supplement of Navy corpsmen and Marine systems operators for the 89 th Marine Regiment. Both sections are landing in Hangar One.” Vivian made a mental note to meet all of the newly arriving personnel after the meeting on the bridge concluded. “Ah, and Captain Kelly has re-christened the  _ Burnside  _ as the  _ Batavia _ .”

A bit surprised, Vivian made another mental note to communicate with Kelly to ask after such a peculiar name. “ _ Batavia’s  _ upgrades should be finished by tomorrow morning. Captain Kelly has proved to be an excellent administrator and engineer. He maximized the installation team’s productivity by ten point three seven percent. Very efficient.”

“Excellent. Draft a communique across the task unit that we’ll be jumping in the morning.”

“Splendid, madam!” Decatur saluted and flickered away. Vivian turned back to Travers. 

“By the way, I got your new XO. Solak!” he shouted. A short, thin man with jet black hair and an angular face appeared in a gray uniform. He bore the rank of Commander. His eyes were dark and his face was emotionless. Travers wrapped his arm around the officer and jostled him slightly. “I’ve been working with this fellow right here for fifteen years! Articulate, efficient, hard-working, and he doesn’t back-talk. Isn’t that right, Solak?”

Slowly, Solak turned his gaze and stared at Travers with an immensely blank face. The Rear Admiral’s toothy shark-like grin grew wider and his eyes widened with amusement. After a few moments, Solak looked back at Vivian. Again, Travers shook the Commander amicably. “See?”

“I’ve worked with Rear Admiral Travers since I was first commissioned, on ships and in an administrative capacity. I assisted him with just about every aspect of his duties. I was also a liaison to ONI Section-Three, Special Projects, as our office and theirs possessed a great deal of crossover. Much of my duties revolved around smaller aspects of the job that would otherwise consume the Rear Admiral’s attention.”

Travers released the Commander and pinched his cheek. 

“Nothing short of an AI!” Travers smacked him on the back. “Been swell pal. Now, get to work.”

Solak slid into the XO’s station. 

“I’ll submit a request for more engineers on behalf of  _ Batavia _ , ma’am.”

Vivian watched him for a few moments before exiting the bridge with Travers. Silently, they rode an elevator down to Zero Deck and headed towards Hangar One. When they reached it, they found a larger crowd of Marine and Navy exiting a small fleet of Pelicans. All were hefting duffel bags. Many of the Air Traffic Controllers were carrying radio equipment while the engineers were setting down crates of tools and supplies. 

“Solak seems a little...” Vivian began. 

“Dead inside?” Travers laughed and smacked Vivian on the back. “You get used to it. Don’t worry, he’ll do his job well enough. Trust me, if you barely see him, that means he’s taking care of business.”

Another Pelican drifted into the hangar and carefully touched down. Travers smirked. “That’s my ride. This will be the last we see of each other for a long time, Captain. I know you’ll do splendidly. By the way, your task unit has its official designation. Task Force 375, call sign: Corsair.”

Vivian nodded, finding the name agreeable. After an exchange of salutes the pair shook hands. Instead of letting go after a moment, Travers squeezed her hand gently. “Some people aren’t meant to command. Others train and study until they can assume the mantle. But there are a few who are  _ born  _ for it.”

With that, he let go of her hand, descended the steps leading onto the hangar deck, and entered the Pelican. After a wave, the hatch closed behind him. The Pelican lifted up, turned around, and flew out of the hangar. 

For a time, Vivian stood and looked out of the hangar. She felt a little hollow in her chest for the moment, as one did after they said their final goodbye to a distant but otherwise close family member. A soft smile tugged at her lips and she looked down, hoping Travers would be able to keep himself both occupied and out of trouble in the coming months. Inhaling sharply, she went down on the deck herself and approached the growing crowd of Marine system operators, Navy engineers, and corpsmen. Many were starting to sit down.

Just before she approached, one of the corpsmen jumped to her feet, barked something in German, then in English, and then the others stood up. She seemed fiery, with golden hair and burning hazel eyes. One of the other corpsmen who was slow on his feet and twice her size was shocked as she easily dragged him to his feet. 

“Ma’am!” the young corpsmen shouted, saluting. Everyone did the same. Vivian saluted. 

“Welcome to the  _ I’m Alone.  _ I’m Captain Waters, commanding officer. You’re now a part of Task Force 375. To the Naval engineers, report to Command Master Chief Petty Officer Uwem, he’ll see you to your quarters and then head to the bridge for your briefing. Marines, corpsmen, Marine officers will be along shortly to escort you to your quarters.”

Everybody was still standing at attention, their hands behind their backs and their chins raised. The young lady in front of her, the fiery corpsman, looked eager and excited. She appreciated her energy; she could feel it radiating like heat from a furnace.

As if on cue, the officers arrived and began rounding them up. While the others began to disperse, Vivian went up to her. “Rank and name, please.”

“Hospitalman Nora Langley, ma’am! I’ve been assigned to Alpha Company.”

“Really? Which platoon?”

“Unknown, ma’am.”

“Is that so? Come with me. I know a platoon who needs you.”


	17. Blood, Old and New Pt. 2

Nora Langley carried her duffel bag down the corridor of the  _ I’m Alone _ , keeping pace with Captain Waters. Already, she found the commanding officer to her liking. Waters’s presence was thoroughly authoritative, she possessed an immensely strong presence wherever she was, and her stride was swift. As well, she had a manner of kindliness around her that became apparent through the small smiles and gracious nods to the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ crew who took every opportunity to stop, salute, and utter, ‘Captain!’ 

Sweeping a lock of golden blonde hair from her eyes, Langley took her gaze from Waters and looked straight ahead. Although a few inches shorter than her new superior, Langley made up for it with a well defined musculature. Clad in her new fatigues and freshly minted body armor, she felt every inch the soldier. 

“Captain, would it be impertinent if I asked which platoon I’m going to be joining?”

“Lieutenant Conroy is in charge of Second Platoon in Alpha Company. They’re in need of a new corpsman. I’m going to recommend that you be attached to Sergeant Frost’s squad. I think you’ll find him to be a rather...” she said, slowly and slyly, “...interesting individual.”

“I heard about the awards ceremony; he received the Navy Cross.”

“Brave by all accounts and a promising NCO by all reports, but I’ve been discussing with Colonel Hayes about putting in a request for an officer’s commission. I think his talents are better suited beyond the squad level and there’s a high demand for officers in the Marines, just like in the Navy.”

“Is this why you’re assigning me and not a Marine officer, Captain?”

“Colonel Hayes and I have a close working relationship,” Waters answered quickly. “As for Frost, having an officer with previous experience as an enlisted man and NCO will make him all the more flexible and versatile. Of course, we don’t want to promote him without assurance that he can handle leadership responsibilities. Can I trust you to keep me informed of his actions and behavior as squad leader?”

“No disrespect ma’am, but it sounds like you’re asking me to spy on him.”

“Consider it a special assignment rather than a spy mission. I know the man personally and I want to make sure he’s up to snuff.”

Langley could not help but find it particularly odd that a Marine non-commissioned officer and Navy officer had become friends. From her experiences, such relationships formed in ground combat elements when enlisted personnel worked very closely with their officers, or in a command staff like in the Navy, where the day-to-day operational duties were conducted in close affairs. As well, officers and enlisted personnel from sister services did not mingle regularly, even on a Navy ship. 

But the more she dwelled on it, the more she decided she was overthinking. Fraternization standards were very low in the modern UNSC Armed Forces and the uniqueness of the war they were fighting had dispelled many military traditions and disciplines. Knowing some of the working relationships in her old unit, it was not too hard to believe that a Marine NCO and Navy officer could become chums. And maybe a recommendation for a battlefield appointment was a gift for a friend just as much as a tactical decision. Unwilling to press the topic further and concerned she may make a bad impression, she nodded resolutely. 

“I’m more than happy to help, Captain.”

Eventually, the pair pushed through the clots of Marines crowding and chewing fat in the barracks halls. One shirtless Marine with a buzzcut and a robotic prosthetic was talking some NCO’s.

“Lieutenant Conroy?”

“Captain.”

“Our new corpsmen have arrived. I thought this one would make a nice addition to Second Platoon. The others will be along shortly.”

“Thanks Captain,” he said, nodding. “I agree as well. Hospitalman, you’re officially attached to platoon headquarters but you’ll be dispersed among the rifle squads. Third—”

“First Squad might be a good fit for her,” Waters cut in. Conroy blinked, exchanged a brief glance with the present NCOs, and then shrugged a little. 

“Sure, Captain. Report to Sergeant Frost. His quarters are down that way.”

“Thank you, sir,” Langley said. She thought Captain Waters would leave her at that moment but she persisted in accompanying her. The pair continued through the horde of Marines and eventually approached a cabin door. Langley thought she heard the Captain take a short, shallow breath before rapping her knuckles against the door. After a long pause in which Captain Waters stared at the door for a few moments, her gaze strangely focused, she finally rapped her fist on the door. From within, Langley could hear music blaring. 

“Whoooo is it!?” called a whimsical, English-accented voice. Waters immediately rolled her eyes. 

“Captain Waters,” she replied firmly. 

“Aw, fuck,” someone said in the cabin and the music was swiftly turned off. The door slid open and Langley was greeted by a wave of foul cigarette smoke and body odor. Seven Marines, spaced around the room on their cots or on the floor, looked up. Four clenched cigarettes between their lips. One was coming out of the bathroom in his trousers with a white towel draped around his neck. Another stood next to the door, also shirtless, and his dog tags nestled in his blonde chest hair. A trail of wispy gray smoke rose from his cigarette and added to the thin cloud hanging over their heads. 

Undeterred, Waters put on a smile that seemed forced. One of the other Marines who was wearing nothing but his fatigue trousers and an olive drab t-shirt, walked up. His smile appeared more genuine. 

“Captain Waters,” he greeted. 

“Sergeant Frost.”

“How can I help?”

“New blood; we’ve just been reinforced with communications specialists, engineers, and corpsmen. This one’s for your platoon: Hospitalman Langley.” From there, Waters turned to reveal her standing with her duffel bag over her shoulder. Frost glanced down at her and grinned a little. 

“Sure, Captain, we’ll make nice,” he said and waved Langley in. After stepping in and curling her nose at the smell, she turned around and faced both her new squad leader and the Captain. Frost leaned against the bulkhead with his arms folded across his chest. He was nearly shoulder to shoulder with Waters, who stood as still as a statue. “Experience?”

“I’ve been in the Navy since I was seventeen, and I’ve been on two combat deployments since I finished my apprenticeship. Minor actions with lots of ground-level skirmishing.”

Frost appeared satisfied with this answer. He turned his gaze to Waters. 

“Not exactly new blood but that’s just fine by me, Captain.” Pushing himself off the wall, he approached Langley. “We know what corpsmen do for the Marines, you won’t get static from us as long as you can throw lead down range and patch us up as needed. Find a cot, unpack your gear, and we’ll get your squared away.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Langley said. 

“Good,” Frost said, planting his hands on his hips. He looked back at Waters. “Anything else we can do for you, Captain? The UNSC Marines are at your service.”

Captain Waters’s emerald eyes shimmered coldly for a few moments. Her smile faded and her face became very blank. Langley was not sure if Frost or the other Marines noticed. Eventually, she smiled just a little bit and shook her head. 

“Not necessary, Sergeant. That’ll be all.” 

When Waters looked her way, Langley just nodded. Without further hesitation, the Captain left.

  
  


When the door slid shut, Frost found himself staring at it. Vivian seemed different than the scant few times they spoke before. It was a kind of coolness she had not exhibited towards anybody in his presence before. Although he found it strange, he knew as the commanding officer she was under a great deal of pressure and stress. With thousands of lives under her command and several ships depending on her for leadership, who wouldn’t feel the weight on their shoulders? New personnel arriving on the ship was just like adding more weight to one of the machines in the training room. 

His attention shifted to the Hospitalman. While he was able to portray his confidence in the situation, he too was not thrilled about having a seventh life under his small command. He was thankful she possessed some experience, however light it was. Something about the defiant glare in her shining hazel eyes told him that she had a strong spirit and that was a great comfort to him.

“So, you’ve engaged the enemy before?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Have hit anything with your rifle before?” he asked, somewhat jokingly. Langley rolled her eyes as if she was thinking and shrugged a little.

“I’m not sure, Sergeant, but I know the leathernecks I’ve patched up have killed a lot of Covvies.”

A few amused chuckles resonated throughout the squad. Langley was undeterred and glared at them before looking back at him. “Don’t worry, Sergeant. I’m confident I can stick it out in the mud with a bunch of raggedy, unshaven pigs like yourselves.”

Again, the Marines snickered and jeered. Frost let it go on only for a few moments before silencing them with a wave of his hand. 

“Well, Hospitalman Langley, are you the kind of warrior who would toss a frag into a Drove hive and jump after it.”

“You better believe it, Sergeant.”

“Then that’d make you an idiot, Hospitalman. We make it a habit of avoiding  _ stupid  _ in this squad.”

“Don’t believe him, lass,” Steele said, still leaning on the opposite side of the door. “He might say that but trust me, we actually make a habit out of stupid. You’ll see; next op we’ll probably ride a Mongoose to orbit to try boarding a corvette or something like that.”

Frost glared over his shoulder at his friend who exalted in the bemused titters of his squad mates. He then pointed at him. 

“This is Corporal Steele, assistant squad leader and our marksman; he’s a Scout Sniper but he got folded into our squad after our SS platoon got wiped out.” He then began pointing at the others. “That’s Lance Corporal Maddox, he went to engineer school but he’s a wizard with most tech, so he’s our current systems operator. Corporal Bishop and Corporal Knight, they’re team leaders; Knight’s a fresh promotion and he carries our M41. Lance Corporals Grant and Moser, grenadiers; fresh promotions. Now, stow your gear and follow me. We’ll get the rest of your kit squared away.” While she chose a cot, Frost waited at the door. He faced his colleague and slapped him on the chest. “Try not to cause any trouble while I’m gone. Think you can handle that?”

Steele waved his hand dramatically, planted it on his chest, and bowed.

“Of course, your majesty, I shall keep all of thine’s possessions and retainers in an un-fucked state until your return.”

“Keep it up and I’ll smack that little fucking mustache off your lip, Marine,” Frost said with a smile. 

“Of course, my liege!” Steele said, still pretending to sound like an aristocratic nobleman. 

“Bite me.”

“How hard and on which location, m’lord?”

When Langley walked over, he waved his hand and led her out the door. He turned on his heel and began making his way through the titanium halls of the  _ I’m Alone  _ towards the armory. Along the way, he passed many fellow Marines and Navy personnel working their way through Zero Deck. More than once, the new addition to the squad got lost in the crowds of men and women talking or heading to their next shipboard assignment. Each time, Frost waited for her. 

The third time she caught up, she glanced over her shoulder back towards the barracks. When she caught his eye, she nodded back. 

“I forgot how much I missed the vulgarities of Marines. It has its charms. That Scout Sniper strikes me as the insubordinate type though.”

“Steele’s the bane of officers, but not with me. You’ll find the Marines of the 89 th are a bit more relaxed. We’re products of the Earthen Youth Programs. We were all pre-selected and with permission we got to enlist in the Marine Corps. We’ve been together for...wow, I think almost a decade. You could say the entire MEU grew up together, even a lot of the Navy Corpsmen. My squad is made up of really good guys but they’re not above giving you one hell of a hard time. Just return their fire and you’ll be alright.”

“It must be tough receiving replacements then.”

“Our casualties usually get replaced by troops drawn from the other MEU’s like ours. It’s not too bad a process.”

“I can’t help but notice your squad is understrength.” 

Frost sighed and looked over his shoulder. 

“Reinforcements have been a little dry lately. Our sister MEU’s are out on the front and I doubt we’ll see them again anytime soon. We might be understrength but we’re still combat capable. And there are some boots around here that’ll always stay empty so tread lightly for a while, okay?”

“I understand, Sergeant.”

“That goes for combat, too. Be aggressive, but nothing crazy. You’re not good to me dead. And Frost works just fine.”

The pair continued down the hall, their booted footsteps heavy on the deck, listening to the other units within the 89 th MEU receive their fresh batch of corspmen. Although it was all muffled and nearly indistinguishable, the jeering laughs and the loud barks of NCO’s was a tell-tale sign many of the newcomers were going to go through a moderate hazing process. 

“So, the Navy Cross, huh?”  
“They’ll hand those out to anybody now,” Frost said and waved dismissively. 

“I heard some of the guys call you Jack the Ripper. You’re supposed to be some kind of legend or something, right?”

“Yeah, that name’s been tossed around. Not sure about the legend. You kill a lot of Innies and all of a sudden you have a rep.” He looked over his shoulder again. “Why, you heard anything?”

“When I first started training there was a lot of scuttlebutt about some crazy counter-insurgency ops in the Inner Colonies. Skopje came up a lot. Some of the instructors served in the Skopje Campaign and they talked about some badass Marine who terrorized the Insurrectionists. Guess it was you?”

“I wouldn’t make it a habit of bringing that up. Like I said, tread lightly. Doesn’t matter if you’re a lifesaver to some of the grunts in this outfit. “

Once they reached the armory, they conferred with the quartermasters and supply sergeants. Langley went through the paperwork process, was assigned her body armor, and then proceeded to her weapons assignment. Briefly, she went over her marksmanship training; she was an expert with both rifles and pistols. Befitting her role as the platoon corpsman, she received an MA5C and M6E pistol. 

Frost was taking a backseat role during the process. Langley was familiar with it and traversed the logistical detail ably. She seemed very much at home among the Marines and Navy personnel working in the armory. While waiting for one of the personnel to retrieve some of her equipment or putting her information into the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ database, she would occasionally look around. Besides that, she seemed perfectly at home despite being on a new ship. 

He was glad the squad, and the rest of the platoon, didn’t receive someone too fresh. Langley was a bit on the short side, but she seemed strong both physically and in her spirit. Her piercing, determined glare was a clear indicator. 

After she was equipped and her equipment was stowed, they journeyed to the shipboard firing range just so Frost could see her drill with her rifle. He just wanted to be sure she could cycle it to Marine standards. Langley proved she could, disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling the weapon. She loaded the weapon, assumed the proper firing stance, and her cheek rested on the padded butt and secured it against her shoulder. Naturally, she flicked the safety off, slid her finger into the trigger guard, and squeezed off a few controlled bursts. Her grouping on the target was tight. 

When she emptied the magazine, she flicked the safety back on, ejected the magazine, nimbly caught it, and set both it and the weapon down on the table. Langley stepped aside, allowed Frost to inspect, and when he concluded he offered a smile. “Nice,” he remarked and set it back down. “I think you’ll settle in just fine. We hit the range a lot and try to stay and shape. I make sure my squad stays in shape; strength-building is important. You have to—”

“Be strong enough to carry a wounded individual in full gear,” she finished. Frost nodded. 

“You look like the type who can. I’ll be honest with you Langley, it’s good to have you rolling with us. We’ve been relying on Moser for first aid and all he has besides basic first aid was the Army combat lifesaver course he took. I appreciate the cross-training the UNSC’s implementing but it’s not enough.”

“There’ll be or or two other corpsmen attached to the platoon. Once I meet them I’m sure we’ll be brushing up the Marines on their first aid training.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that.”

Frost turned around and found Dr. Jasmine Ebrahimi approaching them. She was clad in her standard white lab coat, olive drab turtleneck sweater, and carried a data pad under her arm. As she pushed her glasses back up her nose, she smiled warmly. The Marine returned it immediately. 

“How are you, Doctor?” Frost asked. 

“Very well,” she said. “I’d ask how you are but medical eval’s will be in a few days. I’ll ask then,” she said cheekily before turning her attention to the Hospitalmen clad in Marine fatigues. “Doctor, this is Hospitalman Nora Langley, she’s our new Corpsmen. I was just getting her settled.”

“Good to meet you, ma’am.”

“Likewise. I read your CSV prior to your selection, we’re lucky to have you.” Jasmine turned to Frost and touched his arm. “Sergeant, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course.”

* * *

Jasmine waited patiently as Frost ordered Langley to stow her weapon and equipment, report back to the squad, and usher them to head to the mess hall. Chow time was coming up soon. With a resolute nod, the young corpsmen departed and left Jasmine with the Sergeant. He smiled pleasantly at her. 

“How can I help?”

“Would you mind walking with me?”

“It’d be a pleasure.”

Walking side by side, they exited the armory and began walking down the corridor. Jasmine didn’t have any set destination in mind. In actuality, she had no idea what she was doing. After Vivian had left, she sat in her office, trying to type a report on a sailor who had appendicitis. But her hands just floated above the keyboard, her fingers frozen. She had a terrible feeling in her gut. 

She knew Vivian better than any other person in the Colonies and she was on the warpath. Jasmine trusted her to run this ship and to see everyone through whatever hardships were to come. But the deal they made would constantly burn in her mind, never dying but growing hotter and more intense. If by some chance the man beside her was the one who killed Vivian’s friends five years ago, she feared no amount of reason could stop her from pursuing revenge. Maybe in her mind she thought that she could get him thrown in the stockade. But when Vivian was angry, especially with people, she became rash, didn’t think far ahead, and was prone to make judgements too quickly. If it wasn’t for the pair’s introverted nature in OCS, Vivian’s record wouldn’t have been so spotless. The great loathing emanating from her heart was going to dissipate anytime soon. Jasmine did not believe it would, but she could not help but fear Vivian’s rage would evolve into bloodlust.

Jasmine knew keeping Vivian calm and from acting on her impulses was not just beneficial to the crew: it was vital. As well, it would only cause her greater harm in the end. Vengeance left a person more hollow, Jasmine believed, and servicemembers in the UNSC could not afford it these days. She was unwilling to put the ship and the souls on board at hazard and she especially did not want to lose her dearest friend to her own fury. 

“I see you’re taking to your command with more ease than you thought.”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Still, she’ll make it easier. I don’t have to worry too much about making sure she’s up to the task. Most platoons and squads will have a tough time adjusting to their new blood, I think.”

“I hope the hazing processes don’t leave emotionally scarred victims in my office,” Jasmine said, squinting at him from the corners of her eyes. This made Frost laugh a little. “How does the squad feel?” she asked, her tone a little bit more professional.

“We didn’t really have time to talk about it. I think once they sit and talk with her a little bit, swap a few war stories and show each other a few pictures, we’ll be on common ground. It’s easier to do that with somebody who  _ knows  _ what infantry life is like. Not to mention, she’s a corpsman: they’re our angels.”

Jasmine feigned a concerned gasp and pressed her hand to her chest. 

“I  _ dread  _ to hear what you think of us up here on the ship. You probably call us such  _ ghastly  _ names.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything. I love all you Navy docs. You people have saved my life more than once.” When his laughter died away, he slid his hands into his pockets and smiled thoughtfully. “It’s still not easy getting replacements and new attachments. When we first left Earth in 2537, we had a full, twelve-man squad. In seven years we lost Ocampo, Wright, Williams, that’s who we started off with. Ocampo was the first one to go and he died in a nasty way. Wright died fighting the Covenant and Williams was wounded but died when the ship he was recuperating on blew up because one of the nukes it carried misfired and malfunctioned. Then it was Gaspar, he was cut in half by an energy sword. Phillips, he got turned into a vegetable by a carbine round to his brain. We never knew what happened to Choi. Just disappeared, I guess. After that, we just sort of clammed up and didn’t get anybody new in the squad. With Teo gone, I figured it was just going to be us for a while but Langley’s got us back up to eight. Eight guns are better than seven.”

Jasmine’s glasses were sliding down her nose again and she quickly pushed them up. When she looked back at him she saw his shoulders were sagging. He looked up and seemed a little embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fill your ear. Just crossed my mind. I know everybody’s lost someone to the war, whether it’s family or a buddy in the service.”

“When you think about them, I imagine you ruminate on their deaths.”  
Frost nodded and Jasmine briefly touched him on the shoulder. “It’s difficult not to, but it’s important to indulge those emotions from time to time.”

Frost looked at her, confused.

“All my NCO’s and officers told me it’s best not to think about.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. The deaths of people close to us are, for a lack of a better word,  _ sad _ . You have to experience that sadness in order to deal with it, rather than repress it. Not all wounds heal with time.”

She couldn’t read Frost’s face at that moment and his gray eyes seemed misty. Jasmine cleared her throat. “And because you  _ are _ going to think about them, there’s all sorts of little strategies to help process those feelings. Try to recall something humorous about them.”

This seemed to intrigue him. Frost pursed his lips, squinted a little as he thought, and then he smiled broadly. 

“Sometimes Gaspar got too excited in combat so he’d start shouting stuff in Portugeuese over the comms. Everybody would get  _ so  _ pissed at him. Wright, he was our Corpsmen, was Jamaican and apparently his parents were zoologists or something. Every time he treated someone he’d talk to them about this animal or that animal. I once got a pretty nice graze on my left side,” he motioned with his finger, tracing it. “And I’m sitting there in my fighting hole squeezing off rounds and he’s talking to me about the coney, or hutia, or whatever thing came to his mind. What a trip.”

Jasmine listened intently. It was only just then she realized how little time she spent conversing with other members of the  _ I’m Alone.  _ When not on their watches, Vivian and Jasmine would spend as much time together as they could. Often, Jasmine would take her meals in her office but would occasionally socialize with the other officers. Still, most of her interactions with her staff was purely professional and the few personnel that visited her for therapy sessions could not be counted. Nobody was more aware than her of how quiet her life had always been. After a youth and education characterized by few friends, no relationships, and a plethora of books, Jasmine thought she might find her social stride in the camaraderie of the Navy. Instead, she was the same as she ever was.

It was pleasant to talk to someone else for a change. She felt somewhat guilty, knowing she had not just come for conversation. Her hopes of perhaps finding a little information out for herself before Vivian could felt subversive, as if she was a double agent for two different flags. 

The pair walked in silence for a time. Before Jasmine was able to think of something to say, Frost paused. Jasmine turned and faced him; the Sergeant wore a puzzled but otherwise amused expression. “Are these walks going to become a regular thing?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“You’re the one who told me not too long ago that you’re a trained therapist on top of however many degrees you earned. Can’t help but worry that you think I’m some kind of basket case or something.”

“What? Oh! No, no, no, Sergeant, that’s not the case at all,” Jasmine answered, embarrassed. 

“Well, it’s not that I don’t like walking with someone. It’s nice.”

“It is?”

“Sure. Teo and I used to walk together a lot, just us two. He was so old-fashioned; he  _ had  _ to hold my arm as we walked, as if we were living in the 19 th or 20 th Century or something.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I refrain,” Jasmine joked as they resumed walking. “I think we’d be breaking a few fraternization regulations.”

“Fine by me. I don’t think Captain Waters would like that. She seemed unhappy earlier.”

“Did she?” Jasmine asked inquisitively, her gait slowing for only a moment. 

“When she dropped Langley off she seemed all tightened up. Cold, colder than ever seen her before.”

Jasmine nodded slowly before shrugging in an unconcerned manner. 

“She’s preoccupied with her duties. I imagine that they can take their toll from time to time.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“Vivian is a complex person,” Jasmine said so naturally yet so suddenly she surprised herself. But having caught his attention, she continued. “She’s been through a lot, both recently and throughout her life. Growing up wasn’t easy for her. For some people, a uniform is a way to heal from something, although it’s not always the cure. Some put it on to find meaning in life and in oneself, to find a place: a home.”

Jasmine blinked, soaking in her words. For seven years, Vivian endured survivor’s guilt tearing her heart apart and fostering a hatred so dark it was etched into her flesh. Since Vivian first revealed the story to her those years ago in OCS, Jasmine thought her friend’s thirst for revenge against an unknowable, invisible man was not unjustified but entirely unrealistic. Nonetheless, she did her best to help her heal, to focus on the present and the future. But Vivian was naturally fiery and bold, and her youth compounded it all the more, and everything Jasmine tried to do seemed to bounce off her like she was wearing a suit of armor. In the end, Jasmine hoped her duty as a Navy officer and eventually a command would consume her attention and allow her fractured past to fall to the wayside. It was cold, but at least she couldn’t dwell on it. All this time her hope was in vain. Perhaps the only thing that could solve her turmoil would be vengeance. What friend would she be to deny it? But what would she be if, in some stretch of the imagination, she discovered this man was the perpetrator and handed him over to Vivian?

It was ludicrous thought, one she immediately disdained for entertaining. She needed to be objective and couldn’t just weight her two friendships, one old and firm, another fresh and budding, against one another. Yet, could she even qualify him in terms she used for Vivian? It seemed wrong to reduce the interactions she and Frost had. They stood out to her and it was clear her he felt comfortable by her side. In the few words they shared already, he probably told her things he never uttered to another soul. Frost seemed so gentle of temperament and tender in his heart. To see that in a Marine was very surprising to her and she could admire him for those traits more so than the ribbons on his breast. Like serving on a ship for a length of time, she felt comfortable beside him, as he did with her. Even if he was the one who did it, she was not sure she could or would tell Vivian.

For a brief, terrifying moment, Jasmine felt trapped by doing what was right by a treasured friend, a near stranger, or what was objectively correct by rule of law. Not just as an officer but as the individual she was, she always wanted to do right, and now she was becoming unsure of which choice was. 

“I think I know how she feels, then,” Frost said. 

“Excuse me?” Jasmine breathed, thankful to be broken from her thoughts. 

“She joined up searching for something. I know what that’s like. Don’t get me wrong, I have a wonderful family and we were close but something always seemed off. I might have been a kid then but I was old enough to feel that something was wrong. When the UNSC selected me for the Program, they sent this packet of information that said the Marines would offer a brotherhood no other institution in the Colonies could. That’s what made me accept.”

Frost smiled at her. “Guess me and the Captain have a bit more in common than I figured.”

The words cut into Jasmine like a scalpel and her blood ran cold. 

“Sergeant Frost,” she said and stopped. Frost looked at her, blinked, and appeared concerned. Jasmine took a deep breath and gazed into his gray eyes. In them, caught in the bright white light in the deck above them, she could see tiny shards of blue around his irises. “I would not say anything of that nature to Captain Waters. The Captain...Vivian, is under a great deal of stress. I’m advising you,  _ strongly _ , to let her be and refrain from conversation for a long time to come.”

Frost stared at her for a time. Eventually, he whistled. 

“That bad, huh? I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Sometimes, commanders just gotta put on the ‘everything is alright,’ face for the rest of us. Alright, if you say so, Doctor.”

His tone indicated her was still perplexed and somewhat wary. Jasmine did not mind, she was settled into her decision. She was not going to involve herself further, she was not going to let Vivian stoop to a level so low, and she wasn’t going to let this Marine be involved in her friend’s trauma. He was not a murderer.

Frost smiled a little shyly. “Want to keep walking for a little bit longer?”

Jasmine was a bit surprised. She fixed her glasses, shifted her data pad under her other arm, and brushed one of her black locks to the side. 

“Yes, I’d like that.”


	18. Batavia, Pt. 1

It was raining. Trees swayed back and forth in the biting wind, their trunks creaking and moaning as if they would snap. Water ran in rivers down the grassy hills and turned the dirt roads into muddy rivers. Vivian found her sneakers sinking into puddle after puddle. In one there was a stone and she tripped. Falling upon her knees, she shivered as the freezing water seeped through her jeans. She was so exhausted she could barely push herself back up. Just as she did, her arms trembling, she heard booted feet in the mud. When she looked up, she found a masked man in battle armor glaring down at her with soulless, icy eyes. He began to speak but his voice were nothing but a distorted garble. Suddenly, he reached behind him, procured a pistol, and tossed it in front of Vivian. Slowly, she took up the weapon which seemed so large in her tiny, shaking hands. Gritting her teeth, she raised the weapon and pointed at the figure’s head. She squeezed the trigger and that was a blinding white flash. When her vision was clear, he was gone, but five shadows loomed over her and cackled with joy. 

Vivian sat up abruptly, coated in sweat that made her gray tank top cling to her skin. She looked around. Instead of seeing the rainy woods, she saw the silver titanium bulkheads of her cabin. All the lights were dimmed and all she could hear was the subdued, steady hum of machinery as well as her own panting. She ran her hand over her face and breathed as deeply as she could. Then, she took her wrist watch from the night stand; it had only been two hours since she came out of cryo. 

The same dream occurred when she was still waking up in her Cryo Pod. Disturbed, she decided after her inspection of the skeleton crew that she would take a little time to rest before the  _ I’m Alone  _ exited slipspace.

Although she still had half an hour, she decided to get up. A quick shower revitalized her and she brewed coffee while she dried off. Donning her gray service uniform and filling a mug with coffee, she found she still had fifteen or so minutes. Having the time to sit and enjoy the brew was comforting, bringing back memories of waking up early for school and speeding through her routine to watch cartoons. On days it snowed badly, she would keep her eyes glued to the news, waiting for the name of her school to come up in the ticker tape of closings. It came up every single time and with a cheer she would race back to her room, throw off her clothes, and dive back into bed. Smiling to herself, she walked into her office and turned on her terminal. 

“Decatur?”

The AI appeared on the small pedestal beside her desk. Decatur stood at attention and saluted. 

“Greetings, Captain! How may I be of service?”

“Update me on slipspace de-entry.”

“Fifty-one minutes and seventeen seconds, ma’am!”

Vivian examined a projection of the system they would be entering. A plotted line appeared from their de-entry point at the edge of the system to the target’s last known coordinates. 

“It’ll take us less than a half-hour to reach the  _ Best of the Best’s  _ coordinates,” she said to herself, then looked back at Decatur. “Transmit orders to the Cryo Bay to eject all personnel from their chambers. All personnel are to proceed to their stations and the Marines are hereby ordered to stand to; Colonel Hayes and Major Holst are to report immediately to the bridge after they complete wake-up protocol. Also send a message to the Armory to prepare a ballistic vest for me.”

Decatur seemed shocked and emitted a small gasp. 

“Ma’am! Do you really plan to join the investigation team if they must board the ship?”

“It’s not just the duty of a Navy officer to command, Decatur, they must also lead. I think you would understand that better than anyone else.”

Decatur folded his arms across his chest and smiled somewhat proudly.

“Indeed, although you and I have fought different kinds of wars. Mine were the days of swashbuckling boardings, daring raids, and the feat of lone ships relying on the skill of their crews and the breadth of their sails! This is the age of reactors and coolants, energy readings and projections, and arms so powerful you need not set eyes upon the foe you’re firing upon.”

Vivian sat back, clasped her hands in her lap, and regarded the AI for a brief moment. 

“That may be, but bravery carries across all wars, Decatur. If the need arises, I’m going with the Marines. The matter’s settled. Now, let’s focus on getting the crew awake and getting to our mystery shape.”

“Very well. We’ll be there shipshape and in Bristol fashion, as my old enemies were fond of saying!” Decatur stamped his foot, saluted, and flickered away.

After checking reports left by Lieutenant Commander Burgess, Vivian closed her terminal, retrieved her gun belt, checked her M6D, and left for the bridge. All she brought with her was her coffee mug and her personal data pad. When she arrived, she found everyone working at their stations.

“Captain on deck!” cried Command Master Chief Petty Officer Uwem hollered. Everyone stood up straight with their hands by their sides. 

“As you were,” Vivian said as she sat at her station. “Commander Solak?”

“All systems are green across the board.” he said, his fingers dancing across the keys of his terminal.

Vivian observed her own screens, taking note of the data streams and logs by officers all over the ship. Opening her data pad, Vivian transcribed the details of the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ slipspace journey into the ship’s logbook. As she did, a notification appeared on her terminal. It was one of the Cryo Bay officers notifying her all Marine personnel had completed their wake up process. Immediately, the image of Frost exiting his chamber, going through the protocol, washing, and donning his equipment. All his movements were def yet relaxed. When he put on his helmet, however, he appeared like a shadow. Everything about him seemed darker and his uniform began to seem wet. The fabric was so dark she couldn’t tell if it was mere water or something else. Feature after feature disappeared, leaving him a silhouette, save for his piercing gray eyes which began to look like ice.

“Captain Waters, Colonel Hayes and Major Holst reporting as ordered.”

She stirred from her thoughts and blinked. Briefly, she glanced down at the data pad and saw she hadn’t registered any of the details in the log except for four words:  _ Frost killed my friends. _ Immediately, she erased them, closed the document, and stood up. Hayes and Holst were standing beside one another. The former was taller by a head and was clad in standard Marine BDU’s and a utility cover. Holst was in his ODST armor suit but kept his helmet tucked under the crook of his arm.

“Captain,” they greeted in unison. 

“We don’t know what’s waiting for us here; we don’t even know if the  _ Best of the Best  _ will actually be in this system. If it is, we’ll establish communications and exercise everything at our disposal to hail her. If all else fails, we’ll send a joint-detachment of Marines and ODSTs to investigate it. Once the ship is secure, we’ll transfer our engineers to repair it. I want your recommendations for the detachment.”

“A platoon of Marines should do the trick,” Hayes said, and looked at Holst.

“A squad of my troopers will provide a satisfactory augmentation. I’ll assign Captain De Vos to lead the Helljumpers and she'll take command.”

“This is a joint Marine-ODST show, Major,” Hayes grumbled, “the commanding officer of the larger aspect of the unit should take overall command.”

“Gentlemen, we’re not having this conversation,” Vivian said swiftly. “If the need arises, I’ll be leading the detachment.”

The two officers exchanged a glance. 

“Captain, it ought to be one of us.”

“I’m the task force commander and that decision will be left to me. Select the troops for this assignment and wait for further orders. That’ll be all.”

After both men departed, Vivian resumed her initial task and completed the entry into the ship’s log. Then, she continued to monitor the ship’s systems until the  _ I’m Alone  _ finally exited slipspace. Golden-blue lights gave way to the darkness of the space. Tsang completed a scan of the system, finding no Covenant ships and one UNSC vector. As promising as it was, something felt off to Vivian. The scarce system, populated only by a small white sun and three plants, was ominously empty. 

Following the project path, the  _ I’m Alone  _ and the other ships proceeded at a slow pace. 

“Viual confirmation on  _ Best of the Best _ ,” Bassot said, looking out the bridge viewing glass. In the distance was a dot that began to loom larger. The  _ Best of the Best  _ was a  _ Halberd _ -class destroyer characterized by rectangular-shaped engines complemented with horizontal cylinders, a squarish stern section, a narrow midsection that came almost to a fine point at the bow. Its undercarriage was larger and cumbersome, but otherwise it was a sleek looking ship with black-tinted titanium armor. 

Tsang scanned the ship directly and the feedback appeared on the tactical display screens hanging on either side of the bridge. Hull integrity appeared at one hundred percent, pressurization levels were nominal, lights were blazing along the hull, but the engines were cold. Vivian ordered the drone operator to send out an F-99 Wombat to make a cursory inspection of the ship. A link was established with the drone’s cameras and soon the craft was circling around the  _ Best of the Best _ . At first, Vivian assumed the engines were damaged but there were no obvious signs of any. There were no chunks missing from the hull, no plasma burns, and no fires. 

After the drone returned to the  _ I’m Alone _ , Vivian stood up, walked to the front of the bridge, and folded her hands behind her back. 

“Sosa, engines stop. Decatur, draft coordinates for the battle group to halt in line formation. Koroma, establish comms.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. UNSC  _ Best of the Best _ , this is UNSC  _ I’m Alone _ , are you receiving, over?”

There was no reply. Vivian turned and faced Koroma as she tried again, her gaze growing more suspicious. “ _ Best of the Best _ , if you are receiving, please respond, over.  _ Best of the Best _ , if you are unable to communicate via comms channel, draft a text communique and send it to my station, over.”

“Decatur, is there anything you can do?” Vivian asked, looking over her shoulder at the AI pedestal.

For a few moments, the AI stared through the bridge viewing glass and stroked his chin. He flickered twice and then folded his hands behind his back.

“I do not detect the presence of another AI on board the  _ Best of the Best _ . Their cyber warfare suites are fully active with extra firewalls and encryptions. The same goes for their communications suite. I can crack them, but it will take some time.”

“Negative, we don’t have time.” Vivian turned around. “Koroma, try again every ten minutes. Solak, summon the away team to the bridge. Decatur, have all ships stand to. Archer missile pods are to be primed, numbers at their discretion, and their MAC guns are to be hot.”

The air on the bridge was tense. Vivian waited in silence for the team to assemble. Nearly five minutes passed before the bridge doors slid open. Her eyes widened as Lieutenant Conroy’s Second Platoon filtered in. One of the first faces she saw was Frost’s. Everyone was in full battle-dress uniform and armed with their weapons. After them came Captain De Vos with a thirteen-man squad of ODSTs. Colonel Hayes and Major Holst also appeared with them.

Vivian took a deep breath and waved them over to the tactical screen on the starboard side of the bridge. The troops lined up and gathered around her. “Decatur, project  _ Best of the Best’s  _ blueprints on the screen, please.”

Soon, several images of the ship’s layout appeared. Vivian examined them briefly and then pointed at the relevant locations. “Our hails are not being received or they’re being ignored by the crew of the  _ Best of the Best.  _ We are going to board the ship and investigate. First, we’ll secure the hangar and then proceed directly to the bridge. From there, we should be able to access the ship’s logs using the override codes provided by FLEETCOM. Once the bridge is secure, we’ll proceed to the engine room, secure it, and then bring the engineers and technicians over. Colonel Hayes, will then bring a larger detachment of Marines over to help keep this ship secured. Major Holst, you will command an ODST QRF in case we encounter any resistance. Questions?”

Captain De Vos raised her hand. “Go ahead.”

“Ma’am, do we have any reason to expect Covenant on this ship?”

“Negative. I suspect the ship has either been abandoned or seized by Insurrectionists. In the latter case, I want to avoid as much bloodshed as possible. That means no popping the first hostile that appears. We need them alive to properly ascertain what transpired on the ship. I also want to limit damage to the ship’s interior; a gunfight and explosives going off will just complicate our job. Understood?’

“Yes, ma’am!” the Marines and ODSTs shouted. 

The team progressed to Hangar 01. Along the way, Vivian stopped in the armory to collect the black ballistic vest and extra magazines for her M6D. When they arrived at the hangar, half a dozen Pelicans were ready for their departure. She was heading towards the Pelican Lieutenant Conroy and his platoon headquarters were piling into. Just as the last man got in, the crew chief stepped forward. 

“Sorry, Captain, no more room. Try the next Pelican.”

“Very well,” she said, aware of the dangerous of overloading. But for a moment, she accepted those risks when she found Frost helping his squad into the dropship. When he saw her, her stiffened slightly but offered a curt smile. Briefly, she saw clenched, bright white teeth, illuminated in the yellow muzzle flash of an MA5B assault rifle. When she blinked, the image was gone.

“They bounce you over to us, ma’am? Well, if you don’t mind riding with some regular riflemen, we got room.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Vivian said, and made her way over. 

“Captain Waters.” 

Vivian whirled around, thankful for the distraction. She was even more glad to see it was Jasmine. The doctor was standing a few feet away, her hand stuffed into the large pockets of her white lab coat. Quickly, Vivian went over to her. 

“He’s on the same Pelican as me.”

“I know.”

“I keep seeing things, Jasmine.”

“I know.” The doctor reached forward and took Vivian by the wrist. “Just breathe. Focus. You have a mission. There are people depending on you. They come first, before anything else.”

It took Vivian a few moments but she eventually inhaled deeply. When she finished, she opened her eyes and nodded. 

“You’re right. I’m not going to let this be a distraction. We’ll pull this off clean.”

“I have every confidence you will.”

“Captain,” Frost said, approaching from behind. “We’re waiting on you. Oh, hello Doctor Jasmine.”

“Good to see you, Sergeant Frost. Try not to get hurt if you can help it, the last thing I want to do today is patch another one of your wounds.”

Frost, who hadn’t donned his yet, finally put it on and clipped the strap. He flashed Jasmine a warm smile. 

“I’ll do my best, but no problems.”

The Marine turned around and trotted back to the Pelican. Nimbly, he climbed up and sat down in the final seat on the port side of the dropship. Vivian observed him for a few moments before looking back at Jasmine. Her gaze returned to him, then to her friend. The second time, she found Jasmine’s brow furrowed and her expression confused. Finally, she sighed and pushed her glasses back up her nose. 

“Don’t worry about it, Viv. We’ll talk about it once you come back.” 

“Sure, Jas.” 

“Viv. Please come back.”

Jasmine wasn’t looking at her as she uttered the words. Vivian smirked a little bit, nodded, and jogged over to the Pelican. When she took hold of the edge of the hatch, Frost thrust his hand down in front of her. Doing her best to hide her reluctance, Vivian took his hand and he easily hoisted her up. As the crew chief, Isha, shut the hatch, Vivian went to the cockpit to check on the pilots. 

Jasper was leaning back in his seat without his harness with both hands behind his head and an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. Beside him, Pajari the copilot, was harnessed and was going through the take off procedure. The Pelican’s engines were humming. 

“Rear hatch sealed,” Pajari said, going down the checklist.

“I don’t care,” Jasper responded in a bored tone. His eyes were closed and he was wiggling his lips to play with the cigarette. 

“Dials are good.”

“I don’t care.”

“Pedals are good.”

“I’m not listening.”

“Cabin is pressurized, we’re green across the board.”

“Can I fly this tub yet or what?”

“If you stop being an asshole, maybe,” Pajari responded as she tucked the checklight into her seat. 

“You’re never going to get a date with that attitude, Miss Pajari.”

“You’re a pig.”

“Everything alright in here?” Vivian asked. 

“Believe it or not, some people find me charming.”

“Corpses, maybe,” Pajari sneered.

“If you two are finished, let’s get this show on the road.”

“Wilcom, ma’am. Tower, this is Yankee Triple-Seven, we’re mean and green down here. Requesting permission for takeoff.”

“Yankee Triple-Seven, Tower, you’re are good to go. Happy flying. Out.”

Vivian returned to the passenger compartment just as the Pelican lifted off the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ deck. The only seat available was across from Frost. Hesitantly, she sat down and strapped in. The dropship exited the hangar, entering the dark void. The main light in the compartment transitioned to a dull red glow. 

“Alright guys, equipment check,” Frost ordered. 

Everyone began patting themselves down, securing their webbing, checking to make sure their M52B body armor was firmly attached to their thermal layers, and loading their weapons. Lance Corporal Grant and Moser were armed with MA5B assault rifles with underslung forty millimeter grenade launchers. Corporal Knight carried a BR55 and, with mechanized servo attachments, was able to carry an M41 rocket launcher on his back. Beside him, Corporal Bishop was holding an M90 shotgun between his legs but also carried a BR55 across his back. Frost wielded a standard MA5B, while his assistant squad leader, Steele, carried a BR55 in lieu of his sniper rifle. Maddox was armed with an M7 submachine gun and their new corpsman, Hospitalman Langley, carried a lighter MA5C. 

Vivian felt better for having a fellow Navy service member on the team. She met the corpsman’s eyes and they exchanged a nod. She looked down and patted her own black vest. Each of the straps felt tight and secured. When she carefully pulled her M6D out of the holster, she checked to make sure there was a round in the chamber and the magazine was in firmly. When she looked up, she saw Frost looking at her.

“Captain, do you plan on coming with us whenever we go on an op?”

He followed up his chiding tone with a smile. It was eerily white in the red light and the shadow cast by the front of his helmet hid his eyes from her. Instead of holding his weapon between his legs with the rifle pointed upwards at the ceiling of the dropship, he was holding it across his lap with the side held firmly against his chest. One hand rested on the buttstock, his fingers rhythmically tapping it, while the barrel faced the rear hatch.

“Navy matters required Navy officers, Sergeant. But I’ll leave the Covenant to you in the future.”

Before the conversation could continue, she pressed a finger to her earpiece. “Decatur, patch me into the bridge comm link. Thank you. Koroma, have you gotten any word out of the  _ Best of the Best  _ yet? Over.”

“Negative ma’am, just dead silence. Over.”

“Do the best you can and keep trying. Tsang, 

The NCO waved him off. Vivian did her best to hide her rage. She didn’t want to be on the same level as a murderer. 

She didn’t trust herself to speak to them, so she put a finger to her earpiece, “Koroma, have you gotten anything yet?”

“No ma’am, there’s nothing, not even static. Just silence.”

“Alright, save your breath. Good work, Koroma. Tsang, keep scanning the system. Keep us aware of any developments, Covenant or otherwise. Out.”

Vivian lowered her hand, took a breath, and leaned back in her seat. After a moment, she regarded the Marines again. Each of them was silent but appeared very calm. Their shoulders sagged in boredom or their heads leaned back against the bulkhead. Nobody seemed perturbed by the unusual nature of the mission. When she turned her attention to Frost, she found leaning back enough that she could finally see the rest of his face. Both eyes were shut and he appeared very much at peace. It seemed almost like he was sleeping. 

To see him resting so casually aggravated Vivian. Wrestling with her own paranoid and conviction, she wondered, if this really was him, did it bother him? Knowing he had killed five girls who didn’t know what they were doing? Did he see their faces or their shadows when he dreamed at night? Maybe he was so secure in his consciousness he didn’t have any nightmares. Why was she cursed to suffer them when she had been the observer and he, the perpetrator, was able to sleep deeply each night?

“UNSC  _ Best of the Best _ , this is Yankee Triple-Seven, requesting permission to land,” Jasper’s voice filled the internal intercom of the Pelican.

“You really think that’s going to work after so much dead air?” Pajari asked.

“No harm in trying. Captain Waters, we’re touching down in less than sixty seconds.”

Vivian leaned forward and looked through the entrance to the cockpit. The dark titanium armor plating of the  _ Best of the Best  _ filled up the windscreen for a moment. Jasper changed direction and soon they approached the rectangular light of the miniscule hangar space afforded on  _ Halberd _ -class destroyers. Brilliant white light flooded through the cockpit. The Pelican’s nose lifted slightly as the engines slowed, then it leveled out and landed delicately on the deck.

“Popping rear hatch in three, two, one.”

The cabin depressurized and the hatch opened up. Instantly, the Marines removed their harnesses and stormed out of the Pelican. Forming a half-moon formation around the rear of the Pelican, they scanned the environment with their weapons. 

“Clear, Captain,” Frost said. Vivian got up and jumped down. Standing in the center of their formation, she looked around. Besides their own Pelicans, there were six other dropships sitting undisturbed on the deck. On the opposite side of the hangar were two squadron-sized formations of sleek Nanado fighters. It was eerily silent; there were no clanking machines, revving forklifts, buzzing overhead cranes, warming engines. Cargo crates were everywhere, some broken open and their contents of ammunition, rations, and other miscellaneous supplies were scattered across the deck. There was not a single human being in sight. 

“Fan out, secure the hangar,” Vivian ordered. “Check for any signs of a firefight. Sergeant Frost, take the bow exit.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

Vivian followed the squad as they rushed towards the entrance. They kept their weapons raised and they turned often, briefly looking at the catwalks or other areas where a possible enemy combatant could take a shout from. 

The search was over quickly. Lieutenant Conroy and Captain De Vos regrouped with Vivian. 

“No plasma burns anywhere, ma’am,” De Vos said. “But we found some spent cartridges at a few spots. Standard seven-six-two ammunition.”

“We found some small arms damage to some crates and aircraft,” Conroy added. “Adds up to the caliber.”

“Insurrectionist presence likely,” Frost said over his shoulder. “Hallway, clear.”

“Time for our next move. Lieutenant Conroy, stay here with two squads. I’ll take Frost’s squad and De Vos’s team to the bridge. Mission-determined ROE still stands. Let’s get it done, people.”

The Marines stood at the same time and began filtering down the hall. Frost split the squad so half were hugging the port bulkhead and the other half were braced against the starboard bulkhead. De Vos did the same with her team. The halls were oddly clean and clear compared to the disheveled hangars. When they came to the first intersection, two Marines crouched at the corners and gave an all-clear signal. Two more rushed forward, keeping their weapons drawn on the hall ahead of them. Everyone crossed the intersection, with the last men tapping the Marines in the security positions to bring up the rearguard.

Vivian looked at her data pad and pulled up an image of the ship’s layout. They were approaching an elevator which would take them to the bridge level above Zero Deck. When they came to the T-junction which the elevator occupied, the Marines secured the area, issued an ‘all-clear,’ and everyone progressed to the elevator. 

Frost ran his hand around the trim of the elevator doors, inspecting it for booby traps. When he found none, he nodded at Vivian. The Captain promptly hit the call button on the panel on the left side of the door. Immediately, she heard the sound of the elevator descending to their level. Turning away, she looked at the bulkheads and noticed a small security camera in the upper port corner. For a moment, she thought it was on but saw the red light was off. 

“The camera system is offline,” she said.

“Why would they turn that off?” Frost murmured.

“We’ll find out when we get the bridge.”

The elevator arrived, the doors slid open, and Vivian’s eyes widened as the appalling stench from within filled the hall.


	19. Batavia, Pt. 2

A decaying male corpse was hung by the ankles inside the elevator. They were stripped of all their clothes and had their hands tied behind their back. Both eyes were gouged out, the nose was cut off, and the scalp was removed. Bruises covered their chest, abdomen, and legs as well as numerous gashes large and small. Dog tags hung from their neck and there was a small white sheet of paper spiked into the body’s chest. In large, bold ink it read: KEEP OUT, FUCK YOU, UNSC.

Frost lowered his weapon and walked up beside Captain Waters. She was staring wide-eyed at it. 

“What the fuck is this?” she murmured, then covered her nose and mouth with her sleeve. A moment later, she coughed, gagged, and turned away from it. Frost began walking towards the elevator, ready to inspect. 

“Hold on,” Maddox said, “could be booby trapped.” 

“Pass the word for the ODST’s EOD guy to get up here. Everyone, back up,” Frost ordered. 

Together, everyone began to slowly walk backwards. Waters lingered, staring intensely at the body. After a moment, Frost gently took her by her forearm and began leading her back. She didn’t say anything or even seem to notice that he was leading her away. Her gaze remained fixated on the corpse. 

Once they moved halfway back down the hall, one of the ODST troopers from the rear of the formation arrived. He shouldered his M7S, took off his pack, and opened it up. Inside was an ARGUS drone which was promptly placed on the deck. It was a small drone in the shape of a disc with a single rotor. On it was a small, sophisticated camera and a sensor array. After the ODST set up his module, which consisted of a handheld controller attached to a small screen, the drone lifted into the air. Steadily, it moved to the elevator and began scanning for any kind of explosive device or residue. 

“No tripwires,” the EOD specialist said after a few moments. “Negative on pressure plates, negative on residue. Negative on all.”

“What about the rope?” Waters finally said.

“Negative, ma’am, it’s clean. Just standard rope.”

After the ODST piloted the drone back to his palm and stowed all of his equipment, Frost and Waters led the detachment to the elevator doors. As they did, Frost shook his head and nodded at Seele.

“Never thought I’d see a corpse strung up like that again.”

“I hoped I wouldn’t,” Steele muttered. 

“Again?” Waters suddenly asked.

“The Innies do fucked up shit like this,” Steele said, pointing at the corpse with his free hand. “They can’t hope to match us in the field anymore, so the filthy buggers go for shock and awe like this. Think it’ll scare us. Shows how stupid they are: it just makes us mad.”

“Where did you fight the Insurrection before?”

“Inner Colonies.”

“Where?” 

“Captain, I think we should focus on the mission instead of chatting history,” Frost interjected. He came up to the body and examined the dog tags. 

“UNSC. Darien, Melvin H. Navy.”

“Get him down from there.”

While Knight and Bishop took hold of the body on either side, Frost went behind it and drew his knife. He reached up and carefully cut the cord. Then, all three Marines carefully lowered the body to the deck. Langley took out her foldable litter, the body was placed on it, and two ODSTs volunteered to take the stretcher back to the Pelican. Taking the body with them was out of the question. 

Waters ordered everyone into the elevator. It was a tight squeeze between all the heavily armored Marines and ODSTs, but they managed. Hitting the button for the bridge deck, each one drew breath as the doors slid shut and the elevator began to ascend. For a time it was very quiet. Frost looked around at the faces of his comrades and found they appeared very stonic. He half-expected Langley to be pale-faced, struggling with the gruesome sight. But he remembered she deployed before and without a doubt had seen comparable terrors. The ODSTs, wearing fully-enclosed helmets with polarized visors, were unreadable. 

He looked over at Waters. She seemed to be chewing on her bottom lip somewhat. Her emerald eyes were blazing intensely. 

“Cap’,” he said. “You good?”

“How can somebody stoop to doing something like that?” she asked brazenly, turning her glare on him. For a moment, Frost found he couldn’t respond. Her angry tone and words, although they didn’t cut deep, struck him differently than he expected. It was as if she was accusing him. He understood that; an individual whose temper was rising could often taken it out on the wrong people as they had no other way to extinguish that flame. 

He shook his head sadly. 

“It doesn’t matter about how or why. When someone’s angry, truly angry, they can do anything.”

“We can’t keep doing these things to each other,” the Captain murmured, shaking her head. “Humanity has a bigger threat than ever before. The war between the UNSC and the Insurrection is nothing but a petty squabble by comparison.”

“So the Innies should lay down their weapons, go home, and pay taxes like the rest of us,” Frost said, perhaps too venomously. Waters stared at him intensely for a few moments. Eventually, her expression relaxed and she looked forward at the doors again. 

“Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s us. If we leave them alone, they’ll leave us alone.”

“Yeah, and then we’ll deal with them once the Covenant is gone. One war at a time, right Captain?”

She didn’t respond at first. Frost blinked. “Captain?”

“Of course, Sergeant.”

“You know,” Steele finally said, “I can’t help but feel that going into an elevator with a dead body in it without any idea of what’s waiting for us was kind of stupid. No offense, Cap’. Not like we have many options. Still, though, preeetyy dumb.”

“Lou, shut your mouth,” Frost ordered over his shoulder. Steele shrugged and shook his head. 

“I mean, what could  _ possibly  _ be waiting for us up there? Hostile gun barrels or a big titty stripper in a fucking birthday cake?”

“Oh, man, I hope it’s the second one,” Grant murmured under his breath sarcastically. 

“Is there a third option or is that it, because I was hoping for a, ‘here’s your backpay, you’re going home now, son,’ sort of deal from this,” Knight remarked. 

“Lock it down, boys,” Frost said. “Act like Marines for a change.”

“The Corporal does have a point,” Waters finally said. “They could just be waiting for us up there. I want to limit human casualties if at all possible but not at the cost of our own lives. Be prepared for anything.”

“Aye, ma’am.” Frost turned around and faced his squad. “As soon as this thing opens, I’m going left.”

“I’ll take right,” De Vos said. “Keep your guns up, move fast, watch your fire.”

Everyone looked at the panel above the door controls. The numbers kept changing, getting closer to their destination. On the level just before, Frost took a deep breath. 

_ Ding.  _

The elevator doors opened. Standing just outside were three men in Navy working uniforms and pieces of M52B body armor. They were at ease, chatting to one another, with their backs towards the elevator. 

“Hey, what’re you guys doing back so soon, I thought...shit!” one of them shouted and went for his sidearm. 

Frost bolted out of the elevator. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched De Vos do the same. Keeping to the left, the Marine slammed the butt of his MA5B across the first man’s jaw. Turning as he fell, the seaman make a choking sound from the pain. Before the one in the middle could react, Frost brought the side of his weapon’s barrel against his head. His opponent spun around from the impact but managed to stay on his feet. As he turned to relate, Frost let his assault rifle hang by its strap and landed a succession of quick but solid punches to the seaman’s gut. Following up with a haymaker, he sent him barreling to the deck. When he looked up, he watched De Vos duck under the shotgun of the third seaman. Jumping back up, she smacked the barrel away and delivered an open-palm punch to the man’s stomach. Ripping the weapon from his hands, she flipped around, held it by the barrel, and swung it like a baseball bat. Smashing it over his head, the seaman collapsed to the ground. De Vos followed it up by righting the weapon and bringing the butt back down on his head. 

The pair stood back up and trained their weapons on the subdued seamen. Meanwhile, the rest of the team fanned out and secured the compartment they were in. Several of the ODSTs began ziptying the suspects. One was completely unconscious, while the two orders moaned in pain. Gags were also administered. 

“Wait,” Vivian ordered to the nearest ODST. “Interrogate that prisoner.”

Frost pushed the seaman onto his back and knelt over him. 

“Who are you?”

“Fuck you,” the seaman muttered. 

“What happened on the ship?”

“I said  _ fuck you _ , jarhead.”

Frost excanged a glance with Steele. Without a word, he yanked his KA-BAR knife from its scabbard. He showed the man the shining blade and then pressed the flat side against the seaman’s crotch. “Whoa, hold on, wait,  _ wait _ !” 

“Why should I wait on you? You clearly don’t want to talk.”

“Just hold on one fucking second man, just—”

“If I slice off your balls you’ll have about five or so minutes until you bleed to death,” Frost growled menacingly. “Maybe we’ll hang you in the elevator like you did to that poor bastard we found, huh?”

“But that wasn’t me!”

“Who then!?” Frost pressed the blade harder against the man’s groin. The seaman whimpered in terror. Before he could continue, Frost felt a hand grab him by the shoulder and turn him. 

“Jesus Christ, stop! That’s an order, Sergeant!” Waters exclaimed. Frost withdrew the blade, slid it back into the sheath, and stepped back. After glaring at him for a few moments, the Captain knelt beside the seaman. 

“What happened to the man in the elevator? What happened to this ship?”

The sailor was sweating profusely and panted heavily. His wide-eyed gaze went between her and Frost. With an almost reluctant sound, Waters pointed at the Marine. “Do you want to talk to him, or to me?”

“You’re all fucking psychos,” the seaman finally said. “XO Chamberlain led a mutiny. After our last patrol mission, he came onto the bridge with a bunch of dudes and started screaming at Captain Cain. Said he was sick and tired of getting dragged all over the galaxy for nothing. He wanted control of the ship so he could go somewhere off the UNSC net. Cain wouldn’t give in so Chamberlain shot him. Chamberlain got a bunch of guys together and started killing anybody who tried to resist. He wasn’t unable to stop them from setting of the distress beacon though. Most of the crew and Marines holed up in the engine room and disabled them so we can’t jump. Almost everything’s off.”

“How many mutineers are there?”

“I think somewhere between twenty-five and thirty, I dunno. Some people who didn’t want any part of it went to their barracks instead. Chamberlain tried to force them to join but most didn’t. He made us rough some of the crew and kill a few others so nobody else joins the engine room people.”

“And Chamberlain is on the bridge?”

“With most of the people who turned. The others are off at their assigned areas.”

“What areas are those?”

“Medical bay. Armory. Mess hall.”

“How many in each?”

“I don't fucking know, lady.”

“Do they have any hostages?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Fine,” Waters said and then stood up. She surveyed the Marines and ODSTs for a few moments. “I don’t want to spare anymore bodies taking these prisoners back down the Pelican bay. Gag them and take them with us. Form back up and let’s move.”

While the others carried out her orders, Frost regarded her frankly. He was not sure if she intended to foster a good-cop, bad-cop routine. She struck him as the kind of Navy officer who leaped at any decisive opportunity, regardless of how dangerous or how great the chance of failure was. Out of the many he served alongside during his years in the service, he appreciated that trait more than anything else. A Captain who would take chances and risk a lot often led Marines into the thickest action and that’s where he wanted to be, even if comrades didn’t. Still, from her angry, accusatory emerald gaze and stiff attitude, he was beginning to suspect something else. She was not exposed to ground warfare against either the Covenant or the Insurrection. The hatred humans felt towards the Covenant was universal; even though he was born before the war began by the time he grew up he already hated them. But she was not accustomed to the mutual hatred that evolved between two opposing sides who were as bitter and cruel as humans. In the end, he would have been able to extract the information without causing the man bodily harm, even if did break a few rules in the book.

Frost came up beside her and nodded down the long hallway leading to the bridge. 

“Ma’am, I recommend we breach the door with a charge, follow up with fragmentation grenades, and storm the room hard.”

“Negative, Sergeant. I’m not taking any risks regarding potential hostages,” she responded sternly. “No grenades, lethal or nonlethal. We return fire only if necessary. I’m certain a few mutineers will surrender at the sight of two fully armed squads of Marines and ODSTs.”

“With respect, ma’am, not fragging the first thing that moves puts at risk.”

“This is  _ war _ , Sergeant. Everything we do puts us at risk.”

He could not refute that and he knew there was no talking Waters out of her decision. Frost did not like to make a habit of questioning officers often either. Men like Steele possessed no qualms about doing so but that was because he shirked Marine traditions and the general honorifics of the UNSC Armed Forces. Although, he had the benefit of serving under genuine, hardworking, experienced Marine officers throughout his career.

The two teams assembled and began pressing down the hall. Frost took the lead and kept his weapon raised. Waters was right behind him. Several times, they stopped to clear out adjacent compartments consisting of the damage control center, a secondary weapons monitoring station, a communications suite, and a few other operations centers. In most, coffee mugs, snacks, and data pads were left on the counters and desks as if the occupants had just left. 

At the end of the hall they came to the large blast door to the bridge. Everyone took up a position with their weapon trained on the door. Around him, Frost could hear the  _ click, click, click _ as Marines and ODSTs flicked the safety off on their weapons. Even Waters raised her M6D and turned it off. She stood in front of the control panel with a data pad. Connecting it wirelessly, she input the override code. Meeting Frost’s eyes, she nodded. 

Turning around, Frost gave a signal they were going in. 

“Steele, Maddox, Knight, go left. Grant, Moser, with me and the Captain in the center. Check?”

“Check,” they all said.

“Captain De Vos?”

“We’ll go right. Harley, Cameron, bring up the rearguard with the corpsman. O’Donnel, Miles, Fritz, with me up the right. Check?”

“Check!”

Frost looked at Waters. She took a breath and prepared to hit the button to open the door.

“One...two...three!” She tapped the panel and the door slid open. Frost charged in with his weapon raised. 

“Hands up!” he shouted. “Don’t move, hands up!” 

Around the bridge, men and women in uniforms toted sidearms and submachine guns. Some were standing, others were seated, and a few were resting on cots brought up from the barracks. As the rest of the team flooded in, they raised their arms and began bellowing similar commands. Only a few of the mutineers dropped their weapons and raised their hands. Others drew their weapons and began screaming as well. 

“Drop your weapons!”

“Hands up!”

“Stand down!”

“Get down on the ground or we’ll fucking blow you away!”

“Put’em down!”

“Weapons down!”

“Drop them, motherfuckers!”

“Get the fuck off this bridge!”

“Everybody shut up or else I’ll put a bullet in this man!”

Everyone fell silent as a bloodied man in Navy officer’s fatigues was forced onto the ground. Behind him, another similarly dressed officer wrapped an arm around the former’s neck and then pressed the barrel of an M6D pistol against his temple. “Get off this ship now or I’ll execute this man,” he threatened.

“Commander Chamberlain?” Vivian asked after a long, tense moment.

“I am,” he responded, adding a sinister grin. Frost instinctively trained his weapon on him. 

“Let the prisoner go,” Frost ordered.

“Get that fucking MA5 off me, pal.”

“Shoot that man and you’re going to get a mouthful of seven-six-two.”

“You blind, jarhead?” Chamberlain growled. “Look around! We’ve got just as many guns as you do. Why don’t you just shut your mouth and let the grown ups talk.” He turned his attention back to Vivian, looked her up and down, and then scoffed. “I say grown ups but you look like you’re eleven or something, kid. Shouldn’t you being playing dress up with your dolls instead of playing Navy?”

By words or expression, Captain Waters didn’t respond to the insult. She merely holstered her M6D pistol and folded her hands behind her back. Slightly taken aback by the gesture, Chamberlain looked at some of his comrades. “Alright, maybe I was a bit wrong. How about it, Captain Sorority Girl? Just out of OCS, right?”

Again, she didn’t respond. Vivian Water’s face was as hard as granite. Even Frost couldn’t help but be impressed; he was ready to kill the man in front of him. Again, Chamberlain snorted at her lack of response. “Look, I didn’t want any trouble from the UNSC. I’m not some fucking wannabe rebel who wants to stick it to the man. All I want is to get this ship running so me and my mates can find some little corner and lay low until this whole war blows over.”

“Open your eyes, genius,” Steele grunted, “we’re in the Inner Colonies. There aren’t any Covvies here.”

“There will be one day, limey,” Chamberlain retorted and pressed the barrel of his M6D harder against the officer’s temple. The lieutenant junior grade on his knees whimpered. 

Silence dawned on the two opposing forces. Anxious eyes shifted around the bridge and excited fingers rested on trigger guards. Frost kept his eyes and his MA5B on Chamberlain. The mutineer was a man with a receding, dark hairline, scars on his cheek, and a sinister pair of nearly-black eyes. Some of the other mutineers appeared just as sinister but some of the others looked more scared than hard. 

Suddenly, Waters took a single step forward. Frost watched her from the corner of his eye and for a split second thought the situation would deteriorate to a gunfight. 

“You have committed mutiny, breaching UNSC Military Law and therefore have committed treason against the UNSC Navy and the UEG. You are hereby all placed under arrest for mutiny and treason. Lay down your weapons now and I promise you will undergo a fair court martial offered by the UNSC.”

“Fuck you, you dumb bitch!” Chamberlain snapped and pointed his pistol at her. Without a second thought, Frost stepped forward and placed himself in front of her. But she stepped out from behind him immediately and stood right beside him. “I’d rather take my chances out here than spend the rest of my life in a UNSC prison cell. I’m going to give you to count of five to get the hell of my bridge and get back to your ship before my crew opens fire. One.”

Frost braced his finger on the trigger. He looked at Vivian and found that she wore a very small smile.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“I’m sure you have a really good reason why,” Chamberlain sneered. “Two. 

“I’ve set orders for my ships. Their MAC guns and Archer missiles are hot.” She put a finger to her earpiece. “ _ I’m Alone _ bridge, this is Captain Waters. Lieutenant Koroma, patch me directly through to Commander Solak’s terminal. Commander, I’m going to keep my comm channel open. Unless ordered by me, upon this link’s termination you are hereby ordered to assume command of the ship and the task force, and then open fire on the  _ Best of the Best _ until the ship is destroyed.”

Vivian lowered her hand. “Three,” she said.

Chamberlain blinked and looked at his comrades. Some continued to stare at the Marines and ODSTs while the others began to squirm. Frost looked at Vivian and the rest of the detachment. He could see the anxiety on the faces of his men. Sweat was trickling down his cheek. 

All the while, Vivian’s expression was blank but her emerald eyes were shining. Her smile faded and her brow furrowed. “Four.”

Chamberlain lowered his M6D. 

“Alright!” he shouted. “Alright, alright, alright. I ain’t giving up, but nobody’s going to fire.” Chamberlain looked at his crew. “You hear me? Nobody fire, nobody move a fucking muscle.”

“Thank you for seeing reason, Commander,” Vivian said charitably. “This comm channel is going to be remain open, however.”

“Have it your way. So what happens now?”   


“We’re going to sit down and have a little chat, Commander.”


	20. Civilized People, Pt. 1

“Put your guns down,” Chamberlain said to his lackeys. One by one, they lowered their weapons and stared warily at the Marines and ODSTs. Frost and his squad did not lower theirs. Neither did the ODSTs. Captain Waters took a nearby crate and sat down across from Chamberlain, who turned the captain’s chair around before sitting down. Beside him, the injured loyalist was still kneeling beside him. The mutineer glared at the prisoner for a few moments before looking back at Waters expectantly. However, the Captain did not speak and kept her arms folded across her chest. 

After a few tense moments, Chamberlain cleared his throat. “You made your point, Captain. We put our guns down. If you want to talk, you’re going to have to put yours down, too.”

“You’re right. If you want our guns down, you have to release that prisoner.”

“I don’t think so, Captain. This here is my main bargaining chip.” He reached over, grabbed the Navy officer by the back of his head, and jostled him. The officer looked up slightly, but otherwise seemed undisturbed. Cuts and bruises covered his cheeks and his right eye was beginning to swell up. Frost felt his finger twitch on his trigger guard and he could see the others squirm where they stood. 

Chamberlain let go so roughly the officer fell over onto his face. He then crossed his legs, leaned back, and rested his hands in his lap. “You see, this is Commander Slater, our navigation officer and one of the most experienced crew members on the ship. For a time, I thought he and I saw eye to eye but when I took over he decided to take all the holdouts to the engine room. Slater’s been leading forays against my men and sneaking out to steal food. This last time, he got sloppy. Didn’t you, pal?”

“You’re planning to use him to convince the others to surrender,” Vivian remarked. 

“To either join us or take the lifeboats and leave. Either one works for me.”

Slater got back up onto his knees slowly. His brow furrowed and he glared up at the mutineer. 

“You’re a traitor, Chamberlain. The men and women in the engine room believe in everything you deny: duty, honor, loyalty. They won’t surrender because of me.”

Growling, Chamberlain jumped to his feet and hit Slater across the face with the back of his hand. Waters jolted in her seat but only briefly. Everyone else took a step forward and thrust their weapons forward. All the mutineers’ hands went to their own firearms and some pointed them at the Marines. 

“Commander Chamberlain, if you want to get out of this with your life you’re going to have to keep talking to me. If you want to keep talking to me, you have to release the prisoner. I’ll allow your men to keep their weapons in the meantime.”

“I don’t have to give you jack shit, lady!” the mutineer screamed. “You think because you have the MACs on us you can boss me around? I am in command of this destroyer! I have all the guns, the food, and the medicine! What’s more important to you? This ship or the lives of your men and the people in the engine room?”

“I’m going to leave this system with both, and you in the brig,” Waters said to him coldly. “Or I won’t leave at all.”

“Oh, don’t play that card, Captain,” Chamberlain moaned. “You’re young and from the ribbons on your tit I can tell the UNSC’s pimping you to be their next bitch. Just you wait, you’re going to go from the star of the show to the town bicycle in no time! Somewhere deep down, you have to know that already. Or maybe you’ve convinced yourself you’ll become an admiral one day. If that’s the case, I don’t think you’re ready to light yourself up.”

Frost took his eyes off the mutineers in front of him and slowly looked at Waters. She was sitting still, her shoulders hunched, her posture strong and indignant towards Chamberlain. Her emerald eyes were burning ferociously and her teeth were clenched so hard Frost could see the muscles in her jaw bulging. Then, her furrowed brow relaxed, her posture softened, and she inhaled deeply. 

Chamberlain blinked and his own posture relaxed. He looked at his shipmates, confused. Eventually, Vivian clasped her hands together. 

“Let me assure you I’m the kind of officer who doesn’t get misty during a speech or feels my heart swell when I salute the flag. The UNSC is the conduit which allows me to serve all humanity. These medals on my chest, this uniform I wear, it’s all for humanity. I am not afraid to die here, however insignificant this endeavour is to the war effort.”

Her tone was calm and even. “I am not only unafraid, I am  _ prepared _ to die here. Are you, Commander?”

“You’re full of shit, Captain,” he spat. Vivian put a finger to her earpiece. 

“Commander Solak?” Vivian said. “Yes, my previous order still stands. Have Decatur fix my location on the  _ Best of the Best _ and transfer those coordinates to the weapons station. Fire one precision MAC round at those coordinates. Thank you.”

She lowered her hand. “You have about fifteen seconds, Commander.”

Sweat trickled down his brow. 

“This is all bullshit.”

“We’ll find out in ten seconds.”

“Yeah, that you’re bluffing.”

“Do you want to take that risk, Commander?” Chamberlain anxiously looked at his followers, all of whom whispered and shook their heads at him. Vivian folded her arms across her chest. “Five seconds.”

“Wait, just  _ wait,  _ alright lady?” Chamberlain protested, holding up his hand. “Just give me a little time to think.”

“Hold your fire,  _ I’m Alone _ ,” Vivian ordered. Chamberlain began to pace back and forth across the deck. One hand rested on his holstered pistol with the other gripped his belt. He muttered to himself continually, as if he were a deranged patient in an ancient mental ward, lost in his own mind and blind to the world around him. Eventually, he groaned in frustration and sat back in his seat. 

After running his hands over his face, he leaned back and lazily waved at his followers to lower their weapons. They complied but Waters gestured to Frost and the others to keep theirs up. 

“What’s more important to you, Captain? The ship or the crew?”

“I’m not leaving this system without both.”

Sweat shone on Chamberlain’s forehead. Waters seemed very comfortable, although Frost was beginning to suspect she possessed a better poker face than her adversary. When he collected himself again, Chamberlain sat forward. 

“What about leaving this system with the ship and the crew, but not me and my men.”

“Not possible, Commander. You don’t have any spacecraft available to provide slipspace travel out of this system,” Waters replied, almost as if she was irritated. But she offered a sly grin. “You’ll have to negotiate stronger than that. And even if there were such craft available, I wouldn’t accept such an offer.”

“Then, if I do surrender?”

“You get to live and receive a fair court martial.”

“That’s a guaranteed life sentence,” Chamberlain grumbled. “Not much of a life, if you ask me.”

“True, but it’s preferable to suffocating in the cold vacuum of space once this ship is destroyed. And that’s if you’re lucky enough to survive the explosion.”

Waters and Chamberlain continued to stare each other down. Suddenly, Maddox’s radio crackled to life. 

“Two-One, this is Yankee Triple Seven, we have a situation in the hangar,” came Jasper’s tense voice.

“Roger, Yankee Triple Seven, send your traffic,” Maddox said into the handset. 

“Potential hostiles outside my Pelican. Please advise.”

Waters whirled around, briefly looked at the systems operator, and jumped to her feet. She pointed at Chamberlain accusingly.

“What are your people up to, Commander?” 

But Chamberlain raised his hands defensively.

“Whoa, calm down. I didn’t order my men to do shit. After we took Slater I ordered them to stay put in our facilities until I could open up a comm channel with the people in the engine room.”

Seemingly unconvinced, Waters turned around and walked back towards the door. As she did, she gestured for Frost to follow. The Sergeant briefly looked back at the mutineers, grimaced, and then obeyed. When they were face to face, she leaned towards him. 

“Whatever this is, I want you and your squad on it. We can use this to our advantage,” she whispered.

“Halving your security doesn’t seem like much of an advantage, Captain.”

She held up three fingers.

“Food. Medicine. Guns.” Waters tapped each fingertip with her opposite index finger. “His men are in the mess hall, infirmary, and armory. Those are his bargaining chips besides Slater. If you can take those back, he’ll have no leverage whatsoever.”

“Does he have any real leverage with so many MAC guns on the ship?” Frost asked, warily glancing at the mutineers again.

“There’s no way I’m destroying this ship while  _ any _ of us are still on it.”

“You had me  _ pretty _ convinced,” Frost stressed.

“All that matters is that  _ he’s  _ convinced. Take back those facilities, subdue his followers, and he’ll have no choice but to surrender.”

“Check.” Frost turned around. “Alright First Squad, on me.” He gave a final nod to Waters, who returned it slightly before sitting back down. 

* * *

After riding the elevator back down, First Squad hurried down the corridors of the  _ Best of the Best.  _ They slowed only to check their corners and provide security for one another as they moved through intersections. When they finally came to the armory door, Corporal Steele crouched and looked through the scope of his BR55. 

He saw the hangar was mostly empty. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save for a group of UNSC types standing in a semicircle behind Jasper’s Pelican. 

“Dozen blokes,” Steele whispered over his shoulder to Frost. His squad leader was standing over him, one hand holding his MA5B forward while the other rested on Steele’s shoulder. “M52B body armor, MA5’s, M7’s, M6 series sidearms. Pretty well armed if they’re the holdouts.”

“Hold your fire,” Frost said. “We’ll have defilade if we move behind those crates but we need to bound across open deck if we want to get there. Steele, you and I are going first to get their attention. Grant, Moser, take up positions here and provide covering fire. Everyone else, after we make it, book it to our location.”

“Why do you always pick me?” Steele asked irritably. 

“Because if you get shot,” Frost said as he quickly checked his MA5B, “then I don’t have to listen to you complain about being picked anymore.”

After a moment, Steele nodded his head to the side and bounced his eyebrows.

“That’s fair.”

“Let’s go!”

Steele darted out the door and remained right beside Frost. The sniper couldn’t help but recall how many times his friend picked him. How many operations and missions they’d been on together by that point was lost to him. Seven years of nonstop combat easily became a blur when a Marine tired to remember. But if there was one constant in that hazy memory, it was Frost and his absolute dedication to the squad and the mission. Nobody else could spur Steele to charge an enemy position or undergo the most strenuous combat operations. No matter what Frost was tasked with, he always chose Steele to accompany him. As much as he disliked putting himself on the line of fire, Steele would never refuse his friend.

As they approached the disorganized assembly of crates, Frost suddenly started shouting. “UNSC friendlies coming in! Friendlies! Friendlies!”

Steele slid behind a crate and peered around the corner. The squad of unknowns turned around and began pointing their weapons. “Hold fire, hold fire!” Frost shouting, standing up. Steele reached over, grabbed the back of his harness, and attempted to yank him down. But the Sergeant resisted and waved one hand. “UNSC Marine Corps!”

“You from the bridge!?” one of the unknown combatants asked. She was dressed in Marine BDU’s and carried an M379 light machine gun. Standing in front of the others, she kept the weapon pointed right at Frost. 

“Better put that fucking gun down!” Steele shouted as he gave in and stood up. “We’re UNSC!”

“How do I know you’re not one of the mutineers?”

“I’m on the comm frequency of that Pelican you’re next to,” Frost said. “Call sign Yankee Seven-Seven-Seven from the  _ I’m Alone _ .” Frost swung his MA5B over his shoulder and held up his hands. “Let me prove it by talking with them.”

The machine gun-toting Marine briefly exchanged a glance with her comrades, then she nodded. Frost put a finger to his helmet’s earpiece. “Yankee Triple Seven, this is Two-One. We’re outside chatting with your new friends.”

“Roger, Two-One,” Jasper said, “not really in the market for new friends.”

Frost chuckled and let his hands drop.

“You’re from the engine room,” he said.

The Marine holding the machine gun nodded and then lowered her weapon. 

“Lance Corporal Tomasa Soto. Sorry for the guns, Sergeant, we thought some of the mutineers were trying to bounce with one of the Pelicans.”

Frost turned halfway and waved the others over. The two squads approached one another while the rear hatch of the Pelicans opened up. Jasper, Pajari, Isha, and the other Pelican crews refrained from joining the conversation. Steele could tell from the expressions on their face they were still put out by having firearms shoved in their face.

“We heard you were all confined to the engine room.”

“The mutineers are pretty lax. They swing by to bang on the door and yell at us, then go on their way. We came up looking for Commander Slater, he tried to scout the situation and nab some more food but he hasn’t been seen since.”

“Chamberlain has him.”

“Is he still breathing?”

“Chamberlain or Slater?”

“Both.”

“Both of them are, but Slater’s in a bad way,” Steele answered.

“Why haven’t you put a bullet in that fucking traitor’s head?” Soto asked angrily. Frost held up his hand.

“Calm down Corporal, we won’t solve the situation if we all go down in a gunfight. Now that we’ve linked up, we can take back the main facilities. If we can do that, we’ll be able to force Chamberlain to surrender without firing a shot. Do you know how many mutineers there are?”

“A handful. They tend to rotate from the facilities, but the mess hall tends to be the least guarded.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start,” Frost said. “Soto, lead the way.”

The Lance Corporal waved her arm and began jogging out the opposite door of the hangar. When the Marines checked it was clear, the combined team began moving steadily through the  _ Best of the Best’s  _ halls. Steele was just behind Soto with Frost at his shoulder. Nobody spoke except for the occasional utterance of, ‘clear,’ at a corner or hatchway. Eventually, the hall widened and the squad found themselves approaching two large, open double doors. Soto indicated with her hand to move to the starboard side of the hall. Stacking up against the bulkhead, the large team slowed its pace and approached the corner. 

After peeking around the corner, Soto leaned back and held up two fingers in a V. She pointed at her eyes and then held up both fingers again. Frost crouched beside her and peered at as well. When he returned to his position, he signalled for Steele to do the same. 

Steele looked through his BR55 scope again. The mess hall was by no means as large as the one on the  _ I’m Alone _ but it was an adequate space nonetheless. Long tables with extra seating ran parallel through the main area. Beyond the tables was the kitchen and just above the Marine’s head was the elevated wardroom. Two figures were standing behind the open serving counter in the kitchen. 

“Two blokes. One’s got an M90 and the other’s armed with a new model coffee mug,” Steele looked over his shoulder. “Sergeant Frost, that coffee mug presents a real and present danger to this op.”

Frost ignored him and motioned upwards with his finger. 

“Any of them in the wardroom?”

“No. When the mutiny kicked off, Slater ran around making life difficult for them. He disabled the security camera system so they couldn’t monitor us, and then he revoked a bunch of security clearances for different facilities across the ship for the officers who mutinied.”

“Guy’s legit badass,” one of the  _ Best of the Best’s  _ Marines said. 

“How are we supposed to secure these targets if we’re not allowed to use lethal force?” Moser complained. “We don’t have stun rounds or even rubber bullets.”

There were no other entrances into the mess hall except for the double-door entryway on the opposite side of the hall. All the lights were still on and despite confining themselves to the kitchen, the two guards could still see any movement through the open hatch. Stealth was not an option. 

He heard the tell-tale  _ click  _ of an MA5’s safety going off. Steele turned slightly to see Frost’s thumb resting on it.

“I’m not risking our lives just to follow an altruistic order,” he said. “We’re going in, hard.”

“Nate, I don’t think it’s a good idea to get on the Captain’s bad side,” Steele offered. 

“You could care less about what the Captain thinks about us.”

“No, I could care less about what she thinks about  _ me _ . You’re the one who’s into that saluting, ‘sir yes sir,’ bullocks. Wouldn’t want your spotless record ruined now by bucking orders.” He stood up and turned to face him. “Why don’t I work some of my magic on’em?”

Everybody exchanged a few, confused glances. Even his own friends seemed baffled by what he meant. Steele frowned and held out his arms slightly. “My  _ natural  _ charisma.”

“Can’t we just shoot them?” Grant asked, earning a few snickers among the squad.

“You’re going to get a mouthful of buckshot if you try to talk to them,” Soto warned. 

“Maybe you would, but not me,” Steele took off his helmet, handed it to Knight, and then gave Grant his BR55. Then, he drew his M6E and checked it over. Placing it back into the holster, he drew a quick breath. “If I hold up two fingers behind my back, then come out with your guns out. Stay out of sight until then.”

Before Frost or anyone else could protest, Steele walked nonchalantly into the mess hall. Just as he predicted, the two men immediately spotted him, shouted, and stormed out. Behind them, three more men appeared, all armed with shotguns and submachine guns. “Shit...” Steele muttered under his breath but he smiled wide. “Mates, mates, do you think you could pour me a cup? I’m bloody exhausted and I could use a real pick-me-up!”

“Stop right there!” one of the ensigns ordered, drawing an M6D. “Who are you? Are you from the engine room?”

The five mutineers formed a semicircle in front of Steele, who kept both hands up. “Any booze? I’d take that over coffee. Nothing fancy, I ain’t picky when it comes to whiskey.”

“I said who are you!” the ensign screamed. 

“Pal, no need to shout. I can hear you just fine,” Steele remarked smartly, grinning as he briefly ran his pinky finger around his ear. “Last thing I need is to head back to my ship with a ruptured eardrum.”

Everyone blinked in surprise. A few seemed slack jawed. Clearly, the away team’s insertion into the  _ Best of the Best  _ had been perfectly clandestine. Without cameras and sentires, they had taken the bridge so quickly Chamberlain was unable to notify his followers the UNSC was on the ship. It was another advantage for the Marines’ and Steele knew Frost would be able to capitalize on it. Still, he needed to deal with the situation in front of him first. 

“Ship? What ship?” asked another ensign, lowering the MA5B he was carrying.

“Are you that unobservant?” Steele asked with a brief laugh. “Yeah, the cavalry’s here. Four ships, chock-full of pissed off Marines and sailors. What are you going to do about that with a powerless ship? Can’t exactly open up the window and shoot with those, now can you?” Steele pointed at the firearms they held.

The mutineers hesitated briefly and looked at one another. While their leader remained resolute, the others shifted on their feet and appeared very concerned. 

“Fuck man, if the UNSC is here then we’re done for,” the second ensign said to the first. “I told you this would happen, I told you.”

“Shut your mouth,” the first growled, “he’s just trying to mess with you.”

“Chamberlain said he’d get us out of here before the UNSC showed up. Now look where we are,” one of them, a rogue Marine, put in. “I told you, we should have just stormed the engine room.”

“With all those guns they have in there!?” mewled one of the enlisted seamen who was standing behind the others.

“All of you shut up!” shouted the leading ensign. He turned slightly to look at them and lowered his weapon. “We told Chamberlain we were in this for the long haul, and—”

“No,  _ you _ said we were in for the long haul!” the other ensign shouted. “You said this would be easy and we’d be out of here in no time. Now look at where we are! There are Marines on board and ships getting ready to blast us.”

“Seems like a lot of promises were made,” Steele said. “You know, mates, I get it. We don’t get to see our families, demployments are long, shore leave gets taken away from you, and the Covvies ain’t letting up. Things get bleak. So the moment somebody dangles the prospect of something better in front of you, I understand why you’d take it.”

Steele lowered his hands and tugged a cigarette packet out of his pocket. As he reached for it, all the mutineers snapped their weapons up and aimed at him. All the sniper did was hold up his hand dismissively and show them the pack. Once they settled down, he tapped one out and placed it to his lips. After he lit it, he took a very long drag and released a cloud of thin gray smoke. When he finished, he offered a kind smile. “I’ll tell you one thing boys, the Marines I came here with are not happy. Icing UNSC-friendly crew members tends to do that. But our Captain is a fairly reasonable lady. You throw down your guns and you’ll be able to walk away from this with your lives. The alternative involves a lot more lead.”

A few tense, silent moments passed. Steele continued to wear a smile but could feel his heartbeat begin to increase. The cigarette continued to burn between his fingers. Every fiber in his hand wanted to clench, demanding he raise two fingers and signal his comrades to storm out. The enemy ensign continued to stare down his entourage, his back turned halfway to Steele. Looking feeble and confused, the mutineers continued to look at one another and between the scout sniper. Nobody seemed to know what chance they wanted to take or what was more important, their freedom or their lives. 

Steele raised his hand and took another drag on his cigarette. The second ensign dropped his weapon, followed by the Marine, and the other two. 

“You fucking cowards!” the leader hollered and whirled around. In the same instant, Steele sprang forward and drew his M6E at the same time. With his left hand, he grabbed the barrel of the M90 and wrenched it away. Swinging as hard as he could, he bashed the ensign over the head with the side of his pistol. 

Yelping, the ensign staggered to the side and dropped his weapon entirely. Holstering his pistol, Steele grabbed the M90, held it by the barrel like a bat, and smashed the butt over the ensign’s head. When he fell flat on his face, Steele turned the weapon around and aimed it at the mutineers. Each one raised their hands into the air.

“Clear!” he yelled over his shoulder. Frost and the others came bounding into the mess hall. As half established a perimeter and the other half began cuffing the mutineers, Steele handed the shotgun to one of the holdouts and took his BR55 back. He watched as Frost came up to the rogue Marine who was just having his hands tied behind his back. 

“Call yourself a Marine?” he snarled and slapped the man across the face.

“Calm down, Nate,” Steele urged and grabbed his shoulder. 

“Fucking Innies.”

“These blokes aren’t Innies, simmer down.” Steele pulled him away slightly. Frost was breathing heavily and his gray eyes were wild. “Hey, you good or what?” Frost didn’t answer. Steele tapped him slightly on the side of his helmet. “This isn’t fucking Skopje, Nate, calm down. This is a different battlefield and a different kind of enemy. Don’t bash anymore of them, alright?” He smiled a little. “You don’t want to lose that stripe already, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Frost sighed. His eyes seemed calmer and he ran his hand over his face. “We still have two more to go. There’s definitely going to be more mutineers in there. Any more ideas how to root them out of there?”

Steele offered a sly grin.

“I got one that ought to do the trick.”


	21. Civilized People, Pt. 2

Steele led the way down the ship’s corridors. Behind him, the squad, the holdouts, and handcuffed prisoners, crept down the hall. If he was not so focused on keeping his BR55 leveled towards the front, he would have found the scene of over a dozen individuals attempting to sneak down a destroyer’s narrow passages. Each step they took, no matter how soft, echoed off the bulkheads. Gear rustled on their webbing and harnesses. Even the prisoners, wearing nothing but basic service uniforms and shoes instead of boots, prodded by rifle barrels, made too much noise. 

Coming to another intersection, Steele crouched and ducked around the corner with his weapon raised. Still standing, Frost did the same. 

“Clear,” Steele said, then turned back to the squad. “The med bay is this way?” he asked one of the holdouts. Soto looked back at him and nodded quickly. 

“I hope your plan is better than walking face-first into a bunch of enemy guns,” Frost remarked as the entourage proceeded. 

“Deception, bruvva, deception. Play a couple tricks, we don’t have to shoot anyone, Captain doesn’t give us a ration of shit. Everybody’s happy.” He snickered then looked back at the imprisoned mutineers. “Except those sorry sods.”

After a few more minutes, they came to the reinforced hatch to the medical bay. It was open and Steele could hear voices from inside. He raised his fist, signalling the others to stop, and then crept forward. Leaning against the section of bulkhead leading to the hatch, he carefully peeked around the corner. Unlike the series of separate facilities that made up the expansive infirmary on the  _ I’m Alone _ , the  _ Best of the Best’s  _ medical bay was far less large. Ahead was a single bay with twenty-five or so cots. Beyond it were some sub-facilities which housed the operating room, recovery room, some offices, and technician plants. To see the many beds with the machinery and screens dormant around them was eerie. No wounded were on the cots and the mutineers present in the facility were quite relaxed.

Two were sitting on a cot in the center of the main area sharing a cigarette. Another guard was at the far entrance and he rested his head against the bulkhead lazily. A fourth was taking stock of a mess of first aid supplies he spread out on a mobile litter. Craning his neck around the edge of the hatch, Steele took the risk to see if there were anymore. Instead, he found none. 

Turning around, he waved his hand and the others approached. They hugged the wall tightly. Frost leaned towards Steele so he could hear him. “Four tangos, M6 series sidearms, one M7 submachine gun, three MA5B assault rifles.”

“We got the numbers. Maybe we can just force them to surrender,” Frost suggested. Then he grinned. “Unless skipping your idea will hurt your feelings or something.”

“You know what, let’s try it your way, see what happens,” Steele hissed. 

Frost turned around and began making a series of hand signals. Steele observed him quietly. The pair had spent their entire military careers together since basic training. In their squad, Frost was the best Marine out of all of them, even Teo who was the squad leader. Nobody was a better shot than Steele, however. Still, Frost was an expert marksman, was the most physically fit, he was the fastest, the strongest, and certainly the bravest. He earned each one of his promotions on the battlefield rather than just from time in service and grade. While he may not have looked the part or always acted it, Frost was a bonafide Marine and every one in the 89 th knew it. The Corps’ culture resonated deeply with him and war, in all its horrors and challenges, was agreeable to him. After all this time, Steele found himself admiring his good friend as he performed his duties. 

The Sergeant spread the squad out into two fireteams; Bishop, Knight, Grant, and Moser took the starboard side of the door, while he, Steele, Langley, and Soto remained on the port side. He indicated on his count they would push into the medical bay; Steele and Moser would remain in security positions to provide covering fire while everyone else advanced. Raising three fingers, he lowered each one in quick succession. 

Storming through the hatch with their weapons raised, the squad began shouting. 

“UNSC! Hands up!”

“Get your hands over your head!

“Don’t move!”

Instead of obeying the commands and despite seeing a larger force, the mutineers took up their arms and opened fire. Instinctively, several of the Marines fired back. Steele aimed high, forcing the mutineers to duck. 

“Fall back!” Frost shouted. The two teams flooded back into the hall and pressed themselves against the bulkhead. Nobody returned fire even as bullets streaked through the hatch and ricocheted down the hall. 

Steele took cover, looked up at Frost, and smirked. 

“That was bad, mate. I mean, that was  _ Navy  _ level stupid.”

“Hey, watch it, jarhead unless you want a mouthful of seven-six-two,” threatened Langley. 

“Ooh, big talk from the little doc,” Steele said with a whistle. Langley glared at him deeply. Frost interrupted by tapping him on top of his helmet.

“I’m up for whatever trick you’re planning to pull on these assholes.”

Steele stood nodded and set his rifle aside. 

“Hey, ceasefire!” he shouted through the entryway. “Ceasefire! Hold up! Hey, I said fucking stop, alright!?” The gunfire eventually paused. “You’re some touchy folks, I’ll give you that. You realized we’ve got you outgunned, outnumbered, and unlike you we’ve got a functional ship. Four of’em, in fact. Your mates in the mess hall already gave up. So why don’t you make it easy for everyone involved if you just raised the white flag!”

They didn’t answer at first. Steele shifted on his feet and slowly leaned over the edge. He saw a muzzle flashed and ducked back just as a bullet graze the bulkhead. “Hey! Not, fucking, cool!” he shouted angrily. “Here I am, trying to talk to you guys so we don’t have to wax you, and you’re slinging lead at me.”

“We’re not giving up our guns for shit!” shouted a tough-sounding mutineer. “You might have the numbers but we’ve got plenty of ammunition in here. All I have to do is get on the SQUADCOM and get my mates from the armory. Then you’ll be in a world of shit.”

Steele grinned. He was waiting for the right opportunity to employ his trick. Turning, he waved at Soto to send up the closest prisoner. The mutineer was then roughly shoved all the way up to Steele, who then forced him up against the bulkhead, still out of sight of the mutineers. 

“You could do that, but I’m betting they ain’t going to be fast enough to get here before I start greasing your friend...” Steele looked back at the prisoner. “...what’s your name, man?”

“Flammang.”

Steele sighed.

“...I’ve got...fucking  _ Flammang _ with me. If you don’t give up I’m going to start hurting him.”

“Flammang? Is that really you?” called another voice.

“Who else would it be!?” Flammang yelled back after being prodded by Grant’s MA5B barrel.

“Hang on bud, we’re going to get you out of there.”

“Shut up!” The first mutineer snarled. “Yeah, right. “If you’re the kind of goody-two-shoes UNSC fuckheads I think you are, there’s no way you’ll put a scratch on him.”

“I was at Skopje, motherfucker,” Steele chortled. “You want to take that chance?”

Again, there was silence. This time it was longer and Steele could feel the mood shift. When they didn’t respond after almost a minute, he spoke up again. “You heard of Jack the Ripper, haven’t you? I got that crazy bastard right here with me. I’ve seen him open an Innie’s belly with a KA-BAR knife and tear out his guts with his other hand. And he just walked away  _ laughing _ .”

“You’re bluffing,” came the reply, quieter and suspicious. 

“So you want me to prove it, then?” Steele called.

“What!? Hang on—”

“You did this, not me, pal!” Steele turned back and faced the prisoner. After looking him up and down, he jostled him slightly. “Scream.”

“What makes you think I’m going to help you?”

“This pointy knife,” Frost said, drawing his KA-BAR and gently pressed the tip against the man’s belly. Flammang slowly looked down at it and began to shake. His lips moved but he didn’t speak or make any sound. Beads of sweat ran down his face. When he looked back up, he swallowed hard, and then unleashed a long, loud, frenzied scream. 

Steele nodded for him to do it again. Flammang howled again, doing his best to make it sound as painful as possible. So impressed by his performance, Frost lowered his knife and allowed the prisoner to continue. 

“You boys don’t have long before your pal bleeds out!” Steele chimed. “We’re going to start on another one.”

There was no response. Frost and Steele exchanged a glance before the latter pulled out his M6E. “I can’t stand to see the poor boy suffer. I’m putting him out of his misery. This is on you lot, not us.” Walking down the line of Marines, he paused at the intersection and fired it back down the hall they came. The gunshot echoed through the interior. 

He heard exasperated, frightening gasping and swearing from within the medical bay when he returned to his original spot. “You boys better act fast or I’m going to pop another one.”  
“No, don’t! We’re going to put our guns down, alright?”  
Steele peeked around the corner and saw the mutineers grudgingly throw down their weapons. They raised their arms in the air and walked into full view. Frost signalled for the others to follow him and they swiftly entered the medical bay. Within a few minutes, the facility was secured and the traitors were bound. Afterwards, Steele came out leading the Marine guards and the prisoners. Upon seeing their comrades unarmed, the leading mutineer from the med-bay stood back up. 

“You fucking liar, I knew it!”  
“You’ve got some balls, I’ll give you that,” Steele remarked with a smart smile. “Not sure I could have sat there while my friend was disemboweled.” He turned around and clapped Flammang on the shoulder. “Nice acting. You should get an award.” The mutineer simply shook his head, shamefully. 

Soto led him and Frost over the other entrance and opened it. 

“Down there is the armory. Out of all the mutineers, they’ve got the most guns, equipment, and armor. There’s about ten. How do you want to hit them?”

“We’ve managed to avoid a gunfight so far,” Frost said. “I think the best way we can handle them is by drawing them to us, somehow. If we can get them into this hall, we can ambush them.”

The corridor leading out of the medical bay had two large doors on either side. At the end, there was a T-shaped intersection. Neither facility had viewing ports and upon inspection whoever was inside could still hide if the doors were ajar.

Steele and Frost decided to split the squad into two fireteams again. Frost would hide with his team in the starboard side room while Steele and his Marines would take the port side. Soto would erect a barricade with the majority of her party and stay out of sight until the last minute. When the remaining mutineers came rushing down the hall, they would hit them with flashbangs. Before they could react, Frost and Steele’s teams would rush them and prevent them from firing wildly. Once the melee started, Soto would join the fray with her team, adding the weight of numbers. She would have to leave several of her Marines behind to guard the prisoners.

“How do you want to draw them in?” Soto asked.

“Ask the limey,” Frost said, smiling at his friend. 

Without a word, Steele went back over to the prisoners. He searched through the equipment and other belongings that were taken off them. Among the various items, he found a handheld radio. Then, he put his arm around Flammang.

“Ready to do a little more acting?”

“Go fuck your—”

“Tut-tut, buddy. You can either talk to me or talk to the man with the pointy knife,” Steele reminded him. For effect, he pointed menacingly at Frost who then flashed his KA-BAR knife again. “Get on the horn and get your buddies in here. All of them. Tell them you’re taking fire and losing ground. Make it convincing or we’ll have to take turns throwing a knife and you can take a guess at who will be the target.”

Steele held the radio up to the side of Flammang’s face. The prisoner sighed, shook his head, and then nodded.

“Armory, this is the chow hall team!” he shouted.

“Go ahead,” came the garbled reply.

“There’s UNSC on the ship! They’re hitting us really hard! We lost the mess hall and we regrouped in the med-bay! Get everybody here pronto or we’ll lose this entire ship! Hurry, we’re pinned!” 

“I’ll dispatch a team to your position right now. I have to keep some people here for the engine room.”

Steele shook his head and then nodded at Frost again. Flammang swallowed hard and kept going.

“No man! Fuck the engine room! We need  _ everybody  _ or we’re going to get smoked!”

For a few seconds, there was no reply. Flammang looked desperately at Steele, who did not break his gaze.

“Alright, we’re coming. All of us. Hang tight, we’re going to give the UNSC a bloody nose today.”  
Steele dropped the radio and crushed it under his boot.

“Nice work Flammang. Back in line.”

Along with Grant, Moser, and Langley, Steele went to his fireteam’s designated area. Frost, Maddox, Knight, and Bishop hurried into the other room. Soto and her team quickly made a wall of rolling litters and supply crates. Once their position was concealed, they ducked low and prepped the flashbangs loaned from Frost’s squad. 

Inside the room, Steele and his team stacked up on the right side of the door. The sniper drew a quick breath and looked over his shoulder. “Remember, we take them all alive. Gotta make the boss happy.”

“We know our orders,” Grant said. “You’re the only one we have to worry about.”

“No, Frost is,” Moser interjected, his tone more serious than his compatriot. The comment irked Steele and he turned around. Grabbing Moser by his M52B body armor’s collar, he pulled him closer.

“Stow that shit right now.”

“You saw his eyes. We both know it’s still a problem.”

“It ain’t shit anymore, Moser. I hear anything else about it come out of your mouth and you’ll be eating my fist. Now get back in the stack and shut the  _ fuck  _ up.”

Moser frowned and slapped Steele’s hand away. They were friends; two men who grew up with one another and spent years at war couldn’t be anything else. Already, Steele knew by the time they were back on the  _ I’m Alone  _ their tempers would be cooler and they wouldn’t hold it against each other. 

Turning back around, Steele listened for the approaching mutineers. Soon enough, the sounds of boots and shoes thudding on the deck grew louder. Steele felt his heartbeat increase; he could feel it in his throat. He bounced on his feet and felt sweat cling to his skin. 

“Grenades!” he heard someone shouted. 

There were two tremendously loud explosions. Having been flashbanged before, the familiar ringing pierced Steele’s ears. He didn’t even hear himself shout, ‘go, go, go!’ Storming out the door, he found the mutineers staggering and stumbling around in the hall. Some held their faces while others clutched their ears. Frost and his team tore into them, entering a frantic melee with the dazed mutineers. Steele slammed the butt of his BR55 across the face of the nearest mutineering petty officer, knocking him over. When the man was on the ground, he hit him in the gut several times with the weapon. 

A pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and spun him around. Steele saw a fist flying towards him but just before it connected with his jaw, Frost came diving from the side and tackled the assailant to the ground. Straddling the mutineer, the squad leader proceeded to beat his face in. One more mutineer who had taken cover from the fray by leaning against the bulkhead, tried to raised his M6D. Steele bounded past Frost, smacked the weapon from his hand, and proceeded to pummel him with the barrel of his BR55. By the time he was finished, the man was bleeding from his face and was cowering on the floor.

Soto’s team came rushing in and soon each of the mutineers was restrained. One by one, they were handcuffed and added to the pool of prisoners. For a few minutes, there was nothing but confused shouting and barked orders. Eventually, Soto came through and cupped her hand to her mouth.

“Clear! That’s all of them!” She grinned triumphantly. “The  _ Best of the Best  _ is back in UNSC hands.”

“Not yet,” Frost said. “Round up the prisoners. We’re heading to the bridge.”

* * *

Vivian sat with her hands folded in her lap and her legs crossed. She sat was comfortably as she could. Chamberlain was leaning back in the captain’s chair. His fingers drummed against the ends of the arm rests. The negotiations hadn’t progressed at all and she didn’t expect them or even want them to. Vivian knew between her bluff and her presence on the bridge, she was buying time for Frost’s squad. No communication occurred between her and the Marine; even a single conversation via her earpiece would give away their plan. 

Despite the tactical necessity of radio silence, every fiber in Vivian’s being wanted to check in with the squad. She didn’t know if they were alive or dead, were still continuing their mission, or had failed. Not knowing, she found, was proving harder than merely sitting across from armed mutineers who were quite prepared to shoot her. A Navy officer was all the more lethal when all available information and more was all available to her. Not having it made Vivian feel as though she wasn’t wearing her sidearm. 

But she continued to smile pleasantly, doing her best to convince her adversary she was entirely unaffected by the situation. Meanwhile, Chamberlain was growing more restless by the minute. His tapping fingers became quicker, he began bouncing his leg and stamping his food. He licked his lips as if he was thirsty and would occasionally groan. 

Vivian looked over her shoulder. De Vos and her ODSTs were keeping their helmet visors polarized. There was no telling what was running through their minds. But they were still as statues and continued to aim their weapons at the mutineers. She couldn’t imagine how tired their arms were. 

“I got swept up in the patriotism,” Chamberlain said suddenly. “Saw the ads, the people smiling in uniform, the fleet in the stars. Went right out to the recruiting kiosk and put my name. A week later, I was on my way to Reach. For a while, it seemed like a pretty nice gig. Worked my way up, even commanded a  _ Paris _ -class frigate for a while. Didn’t see a lot of action but got into a few scrapes. Got the Navy Commendation Medal for Valor. I was proud to receive that medal.”

He leaned his head back and sighed. “But the Navy fucked me. Put me in command of a  _ Charon _ -class frigate attached to a battlegroup in the Outer Colonies. My ship was a picket and we had intel that the system we were in was clear. Then we got ambushed, lost over five ships and a couple thousand people. ONI fucked up but my ship got the blame because we were in the lead and our motion trackers didn’t pick up anything. The Navy and ONI tried to end my career but the UNSC still needs officers.”

“Being bumped up to an XO is considered quite an accomplishment. It’s the natural track for a career officer.”

“Bullshit. They clipped my wings. I knew I was just going to be rotating between ships doing nothing but a load of busywork. If I made captain, they were going to kick me out of the fleet to some desk job somewhere on Reach.” He raised his head and looked down at the deck. “I did everything I could, Captain Waters. Followed the rules, kept as many people alive as I could, did my best to embody Navy values. But it’s all showmanship. One mistake and the Navy shitcans you.” He pointed at her angrily. “The UNSC’s nothing but a big administrative mess. People who pay lip service and blow their superiors get promoted while the rest of us get killed or get screwed by this byzantine institution.”

“We’re fighting a war for our survival as a species. The UNSC—”

“The brass at FLEETCOM and the Security Council don’t know that. They haven’t been out here like you and I have. Those pricks are in disbelief; they think this is just another war and they can fight it out with one hand while they stroke their cock with the other, just like in the Insurrection. Face it, we ain’t gonna win and we’re all expendable.”

His tone was depressed. He closed his eyes and seemed almost in pain. When he looked back up, he opened his hands. “Please, just let me and my people go. You take the people who don’t want in, let us get to some backwoods planet where we can make a living, and we’ll mark the coordinates for the ship so you can pick it up. How about it? Isn’t that fair?”

It was the most reasonable offer he made throughout the entire affair. But Vivian pursed her lips and shook her head. 

“I’m sorry, Commander. It’s not going to work that way.”

Chamberlain sank into his chair.

“You’re hard as nails, Captain. Maybe one day, if you manage to win this war, you’ll become just another UNSC bootheel stamping on the backs of little people like me.”

“I will always fight for people’s rights to freedom.”

“Then why aren’t you fighting for mine?”

“Because you swore an oath. Because you have a contract with the UNSC Navy. Because you don’t get to turn your back on humanity at a time like this.”

Suddenly, the doors opened. Vivian turned around quickly. Frost, his squad, and a contingent of other Marines flooded in. With them came a host of Navy and Marine personnel who were all in handcuffs or zip ties. Each one was lined up and then made to kneel. 

“Captain Water, Sergeant Frost reporting!” He said, clicking his heels together. 

“State your report, Sergeant,” Vivian said, standing up. 

“Ma’am, we were able to seize the mess hall, medical bay, and armory without casualties on either side. The UNSC is in control and the munity has been suppressed.” He looked past her at Chamberlain. “Correction: the mutiny is about to be suppressed.”

“Very good, Sergeant,” Vivian said and turned around. “Commander Chamberlain, the UNSC has seized the  _ Best of the Best _ . You no longer have any grounds on which to bargain. Hand over your prisoner and weapons. You are under arrest.”

Chamberlain had risen to his feet and was staring wide-eyed at his followers. Behind him, the mutineers appeared the same. One by one, they began to put down their firearms and raise their hands. Whirling around, Chamberlain stared at them in disbelief. While he stood gawking, Commander Slater rose to his feet and simply walked over to Vivian’s side of the bridge. When he was parallel to her, he gave her a resolute nod of thanks which she returned promptly. 

She looked back at the defeated enemy commander. “Surrender, Commander. Your mutiny is over.”

“Yeah, it is,” He said, his hands balling into fists. His shoulders shook and his head hung low. “But I’m not spending the rest of my life in a Navy prison.”

He spun around and raised his M6D. Vivian felt a hand push her aside. As she fell to the right, she looked back and saw Frost running towards Chamberlain. The pistol went off and Frost fell on his back. Before the rogue commander could fire another shot, several of Frost’s Marines stormed towards him and tackled him to the ground. Fists flew and the gun was tossed away. Chamberlain thrashed on the ground as his arms were wrenched behind his back and his wrists cuffed.

Vivian picked herself up and looked over at Frost. Corporal Steele and Langley were on either side of him. Frost was gasping as the others began to pluck pieces of his armor off. For a moment, she thought he was shot in the lung. But after they removed all the chest pieces, they found the ballistic layer had caught the round and failed to penetrate. 

After a few moments, Frost groaned but then managed to laugh. He flashed her a smile.

“Sometimes I forget this armor is better at stopping bullets than plasma.”

Steele and Langley helped him to his feet. The others Marines began subduing the other mutineers. Once they were all secure, Vivian put a finger to her earpiece. 

“ _ I’m Alone _ , this is the Captain. All ships stand down. Mission complete.”


	22. An Honorable Man, Pt. 1

The observation deck above the training room in the armory was a more advanced suite compared to other ships Vivian served on. Along the window which stretched the entire length of the compartment were various control panels, terminals, and screens. Displays conveyed which weapons were currently in use at the self-contained firing range, what kind of ammunition was being used, who was logged in at each section, and their accuracy scores. Other displays were devoted to the physical readouts of personnel wearing various monitoring equipment. Most were utilizing treadmills or jogging around the perimeter of the training grounds. Others sparred in the ring; Marines taught advanced hand-to-hand combat courses while others practiced martial arts from the Marine program.

Standing between two of the consoles, operated by technicians and staff detached from the medical bay, Vivian started at Sergeant Frost who was in one of the rings. About two dozen enlisted seamen were sitting around him in a semicircle. Some sat cross-legged or with their knees pulled up to their chests. From the KA-BAR knife he was holding in his right hand, she assumed he was giving a tutorial about knife fighting. He was smiling and gesturing to the knife every so often. Then, he pointed at someone who promptly came over to him. Turning the petty officer around, Frost put a hand over his mouth and then pretended to plunge the knife into the man’s throat. The KA-BAR was in its scabbard and he stopped short of their jugular. Everyone seemed to laugh as Frost politely let go of the petty officer. Vivian’s hands, clasped so tightly behind her back her knuckles were white, slowly parted. 

It was the day after they returned to Reach and a week after the mutiny on  _ Best of the Best  _ was crushed. Vivian knew everyone in the battlegroup was raring to find some Covenant ships and get into the fight. But  _ I’m Alone  _ and the other ships were holding tight at  _ Anchor 9 _ while the destroyer underwent retrofits similar to the former vessel. While the crew was disappointed, Vivian was glad they would have a few more days before going into combat again. She wanted the crew to distance themselves from the mutiny, to put it out of their minds and re-focus on the missions ahead of them. Still, she couldn’t deny her own burning desire to head into what was left of the Outer Colonies to take the fight to the enemy. To satiate the ship’s aggressive mentality, she, Colonel Hayes, and Major Holst implemented a strict training regime for all personnel. Navy personnel would undergo remedial firearms training, small unit tactics lectures, and close quarters combat drills. Likewise, Marines and ODSTs were receiving advanced individual medical training as well as lectures on the more intricate systems of the ships in their battlegroup. Everyone was applying themselves well; even the medical staff were eager for firearms training.

_ Best of the Best _ , now attached to her battlegroup, also provided a great deal of comfort. Having another heavy-tonnage ship besides the  _ I’m Alone  _ and  _ Batavia _ would make them far more lethal in a ship-to-ship engagement. Commander Slater had been promoted to Captain of the ship; Vivian personally recommended him to Rear Admiral Travers via comm buoy transmissions. Slater was the natural choice, having the time in service and distinguished combat record. He seemed taciturn and a little rough, but Vivian knew those were traited that would only aid the mission rather than hinder it. 

All of this gelled in her mind, fueling her confidence for incoming operations. But her eyes continued to fall on the Marine below. Again, he selected someone as an assistant. He gave them the KA-BAR knife, provided some instruction, and then stepped back. The seaman lunged and Frost snatched his wrist, twisted his arm back, and tripped the man at the same time. Wresting it from his hand, he pretended to bring the knife down on the man’s face and throat several times. Each lunge made Vivian wince slightly. When she closed her eyes, all she could hear was the fleshy, sucking sound of metal sliding into flesh. Gunpowder filled her nostrils and her eyelids hurt from the bright, yellow muzzle flashes.

“Gotta hand it to you, Captain,” said Colonel Hayes, stirring Vivian. “The training’s going over better than I expected.” He was holding a mug of coffee and took a long, loud sip from it. After sighing obnoxiously, he sat down in an empty chair and propped his feet up on top of the console. 

“I’d like to recommend Sergeant Frost and Corporal Steele for the Navy and Marine Corps Commendation Medal, Colonel,” she said. “Their service during the mutiny was admirable.” 

“We’ll get the ball rolling on that,” Hayes said. His tone was gentle and she could tell by the small smile on his face he was appreciative of the notion. “I’ll tell you what, though, neither of those boys are going to like it.”

“They’re both very humble.”

“Well, Frost is. When he was awarded the Gold Star, he told me he doesn’t need medals to validate his service. I think being singled out for his actions makes him uncomfortable, though. With Steele it’s more out of spite. Out of all the Marines under my command, he acts like one the  _ least _ . But he’s a real trigger-puller and that’s something we really need right now.”

Vivian had looked at Frost’s CSV. He was highly decorated; he’d been awarded the Gold Star, two Silver Stars, five Bronze Stars three of which were for valor, four Commendation Medals two of which were for valor, and six Achievement Medals all under combat conditions. A number of unit awards were on his colorful ribbon rack as well as Good Conduct and Expeditionary Medals. He’d also been wounded three times. For somebody who didn’t need medals to validate his service, he seemed to have earned many of them.

Hayes sighed and he seemed a little sad. “He’s been through a lot. They all have. They’re good boys. And they’re damn fine Marines. Frost’s one of the best in the entire 89 th . Brave, tenacious, hardworking, and he really embodies what it means to be a Marine.” He chuckled then. “Well, most of the time.”

“You’re very close with him.”

“I try to be with all my Marines. I’ve known them all for a long time.”

Hayes then delved into how he became acquainted with Frost. He didn’t believe thirteen weeks of basic training and an extra three of individual, specialized training was enough to breed proper fighting Marines for the war they were currently waging. Marines who could defend against the Covenant for a few days before conducting a tactical withdrawal or gaining a pyrrhic victory were not going to win this war. His brainchild, the Earthen Youth Programs, saw the early draft young teenagers into military schools to undergo extended combat training until they reached the current enlistment age. The motion was carried by the Security Council; all the kids’ needed were their parents' or guardian’s consent and signature. He equated the Programs to Rear Admiral Travers’ offensive strategy for Vivian’s battlegroup.

In the Programs, these young Marines underwent extensive, intensive training for several years. They had the avenue to attend many schools with the Marine Corps as well as attending advanced infantry schools offered by the Army. They were taught to fight in a variety of environments ranging from jungles and deserts to arctic zones and mountains. All were qualified parachutists and the majority attended Military Free-Fall School. Advanced classes in navigation, first aid, martial arts, survival training, close combat, logistics, and more were all implemented. Instructors were primarily from the Marines but there was some crossover from the Army as well as civilian instructors. For the 89 th ’s age range, they spent nearly three years in training.

“I’m surprised so many parents consented.”

“Patriotism tends to run a little higher on Earth. I knew there would be plenty of volunteers there and parents who would be more willing to let their children attend. One way or another, most citizens are going to serve eventually, whether they enlist or get drafted.”

“Was there any particular reason for choosing all boys?”

“Some of the earlier schools were gender-specific but later ones weren’t. The 89 th was one of the earlier units.” Hayes looked back out the window at Frost. “I took personal command of the 89 th and met Frost when he was around fourteen or so. He was wiping the floor with some of the other trainees. I thought the breed of Marines I came up with were tough but Frost just had this determination, this zeal, in his eyes I never saw before. He applied himself harder than any other boy in the 89 th and nowhere did he excel more than in hand to hand combat. I never thought it would be of any use until we saw action on Skopje.”

Vivian swallowed hard and did her best to appear calm. 

“The 89 th fought in Skopje, back in 2537?”

“You were there?”

“It’s my homeworld.”

“No kidding!” Hayes laughed. “What’re the odds of that? My boys served on your homeworld and now you’re fighting right alongside us. Guess the Colonies are a small place after all.” He took a long drink of coffee. “Nasty business on Skopje, fighting the Innies. Frost proved himself there. Those rebels were entrenched in that mountain with tunnels and bunkers everywhere. Seemed like every tree had an HMG-38 defending it. One bunker we came across pinned down an entire company. Frost was the only one who stood up. He charged the bloody thing, lobbed a grenade into the firing port, and then went in with nothing but his knife.”

Below, Frost grappled with another volunteer, flipped him onto his back, and then pretended to slice his throw with the sheathed KA-BAR knife. Vivian looked back at Hayes, who was watching the spectacle with a satisfied grin. “He killed  _ nine  _ men using only that knife. I awarded him the Gold Star for that. He’s got a real career ahead of him.”

Hayes grimaced. “If only he could shake that laggart.”

“Steele?”

“I worry he’ll have a negative impact on Frost’s trajectory. I could put him in another squad but it’d have a negative impact on their morale. These boys grew up together and they’re tighter than most. Frost nearly died saving that limey’s life on a special assignment.”

“They’re loyal to each other.”

“They all are.”

The conversation paused for a time. Frost was providing another demonstration, coming up behind a volunteer from a low crouch. He brought the knife across the back of the female seaman’s knee, grazing it with the scabbard, forced her down, grabbed her face, and pretended to jab her in the back. When he finished, he held her back onto her feet with one hand as if he was about to dance with her. She walked away frazzled but smiling. Handing the knife to another volunteer, he presided over a recreation of the attack between two other seamen.

Vivian leaned forward and pressed her hands together. “I hear the name ‘Jack the Ripper,’ floating around every so often.”

“The local Army garrison on Skopje took to calling him that. It was because of his skills as a close combat specialist and a night fighter. Good PSYOPS strategy for the Innies; half of them were scared shitless by the name and the other half wanted to kill him so badly they were ready to charge our lines.”

Everything was falling into place. The evidence was building up. It was him, it had to be him. Skopje, 2537, Jack the Ripper, a rebel hunter; it was him! A fire in her belly burned. She wanted to run into the armory, grab an M6, and put a bullet in her skull. But Vivian did her best to remain calm. The  _ I’m Alone  _ and her crew needed her more than she needed her revenge. That’s what she kept telling herself. She was going to gather testimonies, find the evidence, and follow every code in the handbook to see him investigated and court-martialed. It would by the book, clean, legal. She felt the shadows around her, with blazing white eyes and streaks of red in their hair. If she could do this maybe she would be able to get rid of them. 

Hayes finished his coffee. “I read the after-action report. He took a bullet for you. Is that really why you want to give him the medal?” Before Vivian blinked he waved his hand. “I know he did more than that. I don’t mean to sound callous but that’s just Frost being himself. Like I said, he’s incredibly brave. I don’t think he’s that afraid of getting wounded or even dying.”

“I gathered that.”

“It’d really mean something if he received it from you, I think.”

“It’ll take time to process a sister service recommendation.”

“All the same, it’d mean a lot. I get the feeling he admires you.” Hayes smiled. “A lot of my Marines do. We like the kind of Navy officers who want to fight.”

The conversation ended there. Hayes finished his coffee, said his goodbyes, and departed. Below, the training shift was changing and Frost’s group scattered. While he proceeded to the firing range, a stream of Marine and Navy personnel came out of the classrooms. Standing beside the door was Jasmine in her white lab coat. Stopping to talk with her was Hospitalman Langley, clad in her Marine-issue, light-green forest MARPAT pattern utility uniform. Exiting the observation platform, Vivian decided to speak to her. A few more corpsmen were speaking with Jasmine so she stayed further down the line of personnel. Everyone who came out smiled and nodded. Vivian greeted each one.

“Jensen, how are you?”

“Good Captain, hope you are too.”

“Frederickson, I hope you’ve been paying attention.”

“Ah, I was hoping to cop a few z’s but I resisted.”

“Markov, looking sharp. Going somewhere?”

“No shore leave for me, Captain.”

“Torres, you better not have been trying to find a date in there.”

“How’d you see through my plan, Cap!?”

Eventually, Langley came down the line. Vivian touched her on the shoulder. 

“Could you wait up for a few minutes, Hospitalman? I’d like to speak to you after I talk with the doctor.”

While the young Hospitalman found a bench to sit on, Vivian went into the classroom. Most of the Marines and seamen were gone. It was a simple set up, with a white marker board at the front of the room and a larger square screen beside it. Metal tables bolted into the deck formed five lines. Jasmine had already gone back in and was collecting some hard-copy diagrams she brought with her.

“I didn’t think I’d like teaching this much,” Jasmine said with a smile. Vivian sat down, folded her arms across her chest, and leaned back. Despite gathering her items up to leave, Jasmine still possessed the stately nature of an educator. “I actually had more students than available seats. Some weren’t scheduled for this hour; maybe they were just bored and needed to break up the monotony.”

“I used to take every opportunity I could to go to the library back in high school. Whenever I had a free or study period, I was there brushing up on the sciences.”

“I’d say I make a better friend than your library books, but I’m kind of a textbook with arms and legs,” Jasmine joked. Vivian chuckled only a little before nodding and looked down at her black boots. When she looked back up, she felt nervous. Jasmine seemed to have noticed and was looking at her. Her expression was confused. 

“I was just talking to Hayes. The 89th _was_ at Skopje. He _confirmed_ that Frost is called Jack the Ripper. He _has_ killed people. It’s him, Jas.”

Jasmine set her data pad on the desk in front of her. It made a loud  _ clap  _ sound. She looked up and frowned.

“You haven’t said a  _ word  _ about him since you came back on board. I had this miniscule forlorn hope you just dropped the whole thing. Just,  _ magically  _ lost the desire to find out if it was him or not. Poof, gone, into thin air.” Jasmine waved her hands, exasperated, before letting them fall limply by her sides. “I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m trivializing what you’re feeling right now but this is more than concerning for me, it’s terrifying and aggravating. You’re going to get yourself hurt if you walk down this path, Viv. You’re not going to find the peace you’re looking for.”

“I think I’ll decide what my peace is like, Jasmine.”

“That’s not how it works! You might get some catharsis, you might actually feel pretty good about yourself. But it’s not going to make your trauma go away.” Jasmine’s tone was heated and she stopped herself short. She closed her eyes and inhaled heavily. When she looked back up, her expression was even and her tone calmer. “I want you to get better but this isn’t the way to do it. The fact that I’m worried you’re going to take your service weapon, go out there, and shoot him...”

“I’m not—”

“Or that your investigation will backfire and land you in hot water...”

“How could this backfire on me?”

“One verbal testimony? You’ll need more than that. And hard evidence. If it backfires, you’re going to not only alienate Frost but the entire 89 th . The UNSC military machine is tribal. You threaten one of the tribe and the rest will close in to protect them. So if your investigation actually goes somewhere, regardless if it succeeds or fails, you’re going to create a rift between the Navy personnel and Marines. They’ll never trust you. And if they don’t trust you, there will be a breakdown in unit cohesion. Is diminishing combat effectiveness really worth your vengeance?”

“You know, you have a real nice way of making me feel like a piece of shit over my problems, Jas.”

“This is all  _ in  _ you, Viv. It’s all on you. The best thing you could do is forgive and move on. It’s not easy, it’s not going to make you feel better right now, but it’ll allow you to remove yourself from it  _ just  _ enough that you can truly begin healing.”

“I’ll make the right choice in the end,” Vivian said finally. Jasmine shook her head, gathered up her materials, and stormed out.

* * *

Doctor Jasmine walked out in a huff. Nora Langley stood up respectfully but the doctor didn’t seem to notice her.

“The captain will see you now,” was all she said, her tone rigid. Langley watched her stomp off towards the exit. Her path brought her near the firing range where Sergeant Frost was. He reached out, nearly touching his arm, and said something to her. Immediately, she stopped and her posture seemed to relax. After a few moments of conversation, they were both laughing. Confused, Langley went into the classroom. 

“Captain?”  
Vivian Waters seemed distant for a few moments. Her emerald eyes seemed hard and frozen. It was enough to make Langley feel uneasy. She hadn’t heard what happened between the Captain and the chief doctor but she just felt something bad happened. 

“Sergeant Frost noted you in the after action report. He said you performed ably under the conditions and admired that you were unafraid of close combat. He made a personal report to your platoon commander, Lieutenant Conroy, and he’s put you in for the Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medal. It’s going to go through.”

Langley stood a little straighter. 

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Speak freely, Langley. How are you fitting in with your squad?”

“I’ve been with Marines before. It’s not so much adjusting to the culture or the lifestyle as it is to that particular group of men. There was the usual pussyfooting around but they know I’m not green. They treat me, more or less, like another Marine.”

“And Sergeant Frost?”

“He’s a good squad leader. I appreciate he maintains his authority but also allows the Marines under his command to have some initiative. He’s fair, honest, and accessible.”

“So you can just talk to him?”

“Yeah, like he’s a normal person. Sometimes you get the NCO but other times you get the man. I don’t think he’s going to get us into anything we can’t handle. Nothing stupid. I trust him. Everyone trusts him.” Langley cleared her throat. “After what happened on the bridge, I’m sure you do too.”


	23. An Honorable Man, Pt. 2

“How’s that bruise doing, Sergeant?” Jasmine asked, pointing at Frost’s chest. Even with the advance ballistic protection offered by M52B body armor, the shock of receiving a heavy M6D round was enough to leave a fist-sized bruise on the center of Frost’s chest. Jasmine herself inspected it when the away team returned from the  _ Best of the Best.  _ There was little she could do but provide some soothing ointment for the stinging surface pain the Marine squad leader complained of.

Smiling amiably, he gently put his hand over his chest. 

“Much better. Those magnum rounds pack a real punch but I’m pretty used to it.” He offered a slightly bashful hug. “I’ve been shot plenty of times before.

“When you fought against Insurrectionists?”

“Definitely, but I’ve gotten pinged by the Covenant plenty of times. Friendly fire is a big problem too. Sometimes there’s just so many weapon systems firing in some many directions it’s unavoidable. I’ve been smacked in my ballistics from stray rounds more than once. It’s bound to happen every so often.”

He spoke of the matter with a casual tone that could have been disturbing to the average person. A civilian expected the speaker to have reacted like they would have under fire: scared and desperate. The training UNSC Armed Forces personnel sustained was often lost on the civilian mind who recognized the uniform but didn’t understand what it represented. The calmness could become unnerving, Jasmine knew. Despite her own training with the Navy, she still found it somewhat surprising that a man who had received so many wounds and suffered countless near-misses, would be rather put-out by the notion of war. 

“If you can help, I  _ advise _ you,” Jasmine teased, “to try and avoid plasma and firearm projectiles. Bullets are quite bad for your health.”

This was enough to make Frost laugh dryly. 

“You know, Doctor, you’ve got a decent sense of humor. Most of the medical personnel I’ve ever encountered tend to be grim people.”

“Of course. Imagine having to care for a bunch of reckless Marines who appear to go out of their way to get as many wounds as possible,” Jasmine remarked. “You and your fellow Marines make life very difficult for us. The whole point of medicine is to keep you  _ out  _ of our office, not coming back.”

“Hey, doctors and surgeons and trauma nurses have to make a living too,” Frost said, returning her light tone with his own. Both chuckled politely. Frost shifted on his feet, his hands sliding into his pockets. Jasmine cleared her throat, briefly glanced at her data pad and then tucked it back under her arm. She pushed a lock of her voluminous black hair back behind her ear.

“It was very brave to take that bullet for Captain Waters,” Jasmine said, finding nothing else to say. 

Frost blinked in surprise. He cleared his own throat, nodded his head to the side, and pursed his lips. 

“I think the Captain would have done the same thing for me or any other person under her command.”

Jasmine could have squirmed. Not until now had she feared for this man’s life. Vivian was seizing more on the evidence, however bare it was. Since their first conversation, she had seemed to calm down and proceed with caution. But now her suspicions seemed to be making her angrier and that could only lead to disaster. While Jasmine trusted Vivian to carry the _I’m Alone_ and the other ships through combat operations, she did not trust her with herself. She was a good person, better than she gave herself credit for. Personally leading the away team to investigate the mutiny on _Best of the Best_ was proof enough she wasn’t going to send people on needless errands. But the anguish she carried with her possessed the potential to defeat that unique altruism. 

More than anything, Jasmine wanted to see her closest friend in the Colonies heal. Whatever she was planning to do to Frost, whether that was pursue his arrest via proper channels or more unrestrained action would not apply a salve to her open wound. It would fill it with poison, corrupt it further, and take root in her heart. From there, she would be nothing but a husk trapped in a memory.

She did not like to doubt Vivian. But her anxiety was growing to such an extent she wanted to warn Frost. Not out of particular friendship or care for the Marine, but to prevent any bloodshed whatsoever. It didn’t matter if he committed the act or didn’t. More than Vivian’s career was at stake: it was her life. Yet, she found she couldn’t speak. Her bond with Vivian kept her lips sealed. To tell Frost what was occurring without his knowledge would be akin to committing treason. As well, not telling him was a crime of its own. Jasmine felt cowardly and trapped. 

“How are your men?” Jasmine asked, changing the subject and despising herself all the mopre for it. Instead of answering, Frost pointed at the sparring rings. Knight and Bishop, two team leaders from his squad, were practicing in the ring. Neither were wearing any protective equipment either which greatly irked Jasmine. Around them, the other members of the squad watched with amusement. Frost’s friend and assistant squad leader, Steele, was the only one who was detached. He was leaning over the ring, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, and chatting to a female petty officer. 

Frost chuckled happily at the sight of his squad. His laughter opened his lips and revealed his missing tooth. Upon glimpsing it, Jasmine pointed at him. “You know we can repair that damage with an artificial tooth. 

“Oh, I don’t mind it all that much.”

“Just make sure you brush that spot very well. Food particles could easily get stuck and cause—”

“I’ve had a thousand and one doctors tell me that,” the Sergeant mumbled, but not in an unkind tone.

“Nonetheless,” Jasmine stated firmly, “I better see sparkling with teeth at your next physical. Doctor Carver is our head dentist and I assure you he is not as tender with his patients as I am.”

Frost pretended to look scared, raising his eyebrows and feigning a gasp.

“Of course, Doctor! Absolutely, Doctor! Anything not to go to the dentist, Doctor!”

They both laughed a little., the corners of their eyes wrinkling and their smiles growing wider. When Jasmine recovered, she noticed there were more than a few eyes on her and Frost. Passing Marines and Navy crew members regarded them with curiosity. Immediately, she knew why. Standard regulations in the UNSC handbook stated that fraternization between officers and enlisted men from any branch of the Armed Forces was to be limited to certain areas and time of day. Designated drills were not one of those times. 

She looked back at Frost. At that moment, he didn’t appear like a Marine as he strolled beside her. He matched her pace, kept his hands in his pockets, smiled constantly, and kept his head slightly bowed so that their eyes were more level. It struck her that he seemed very comfortable beside her. Jasmine took note of her own relaxed posture and was surprised to find she felt the same. She didn’t realize just how natural it felt to walk and talk with someone. This was just one of the many walks they had found themselves taking together, clearly breaching the fraternization regulations. 

Jasmine cleared her throat and felt very embarrassed to be seen with the enlisted man.

“Well, thank you for your time, Sergeant. I’m going to go back to the medical bay and check on my patients.”

“You mean that scumbag Chamberlain?”

Using the man who had shot Sergeant Frost probably was the most tactful means to excuse herself from the conversation. There was still an element of truth in it; Chamberlain had been beaten very badly when he was subdued by the Marines. His right ankle was sprained and the corroborating shoulder was dislocated. Many of the mutineers who were ambushed by Frost and Corporal Steele were suffering from broken jaws and teeth as well as concussions. Mutineers they were, but they were now in UNSC custody and by the articles set in place she was bound to care for them.

“Unfortunately. Their treatment is still ongoing and they won’t be removed from the ship until it’s completed.” Jasmine pushed her glasses, having slid down her nose, back up. “Most of the non-medical personnel who happen to pass through my medical bay look at the mutineers like they want to kill them. Even the ODSTs guarding them are agitated. It’s bad for morale. The sooner we fix them, the sooner they’ll be removed from the ship.

Frost nodded in an understanding way. Jasmine smiled warmly at him. “My door is always open to you. I’m up late most nights so company is always welcome.”

The young sergeant smiled and it came across as less mature and very boyish. Jasmine could not help but find it charming.

“I appreciate that, Doctor. I think I’ll—”

There was a loud gunshot outside the firing range. Immediately, Jasmine and Frost ducked low. He put an arm around her and threw his body in front of her. 

“Corpsman!” somebody screamed. 

  
  


* * *

Vivian felt depressed. She was sitting in her office and remained slumped back in her chair. All she could do was stare at the wall as fatigue began to settle in her bones. Slowly, she raised her arm and glanced at her wrist watch; if she had been planetside on Reach, it would be night by now. 

It was a few hours after the incident in the armory. Not long after exiting the classroom, Petty Officer Third Class Markov collected an M6D and went to the firing range per his training schedule. The automated scoring counter showed his marksmanship had improved from his last test and he now qualified for the Expert Pistol Shot Medal. So enthused with this success he failed to unload or switch the weapon’s safety off. When he exited the firing range, he was still sliding it into his holster and accidentally squeezed the trigger. The round penetrated his thigh and began bleeding heavily.

Luckily, Jasmine and several other staff members from the medical wing were present. They immediately applied first aid to the wound and hastily transported him to the medical bay. Markov immediately went into surgery with Jasmine. As far as Vivian knew, they were still in the OR. The waiting was killing Vivian and it had been for the remainder of the working day. She knew Markov to an extent; she had taken time to get acquainted with as many of the crew members as possible during the maiden voyage of the  _ I’m Alone _ . He was a well-meaning young man who served as one of the manual operators for the secondary weapon systems. While his marksmanship with firearms apparently needed improvement, he was an expert in Naval gunnery. 

Vivian couldn’t imagine the letter she would have to send to Markov’s family. To write what felt like the ‘company,’ line, the standard mantra of how the individual died while in service of Earth and her Colonies felt very wrong. But the truth was just as horrible. In any event, it probably didn’t matter; their son would be dead and that’s all they’d see in the letter. 

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Vivian knew she was going to lose personnel in the line of fire and was as prepared as she could be for it. But losing a man, not even to a friendly fire incident but to his own carelessness, was something she never accounted for. She could not help feeling ridiculous as her nerves grated. 

Suddenly, her terminal pinged. It was a message from Jasmine. Hastily, Vivian opened it and began reading:

_ Viv, _

_ PO3 Markov’s surgery was successful and is now in recovery. The bullet nicked his femur and cut the femoral artery. We were able to extract the round and bone fragments as well as repair the damage to his artery. He’ll be able to return to duty after several months of rest and rehabilitation. It wasn’t a terrible operation but I won’t lie to you, it wasn’t easy either. My team did a wonderful job under pressure. Markov is currently sleeping so I suggest seeing him in the morning. Don’t worry, I’ve got my eye on him.  _

_ \- Jas _

Vivian closed the window in her terminal, leaned back again, and exhaled in relief. A little, relieved laugh passed through her lips and she was very glad that the somber letter home was no longer a necessity. Almost, she felt silly for believing that he was practically already dead before Jasmine got back to her. 

She left her desk, brewed some coffee, and drank it black. Vivian’s emotions began to settle and her mind began to draw back to her conversations with Jasmine and Langley. While the former may not have believed her, she took their thoughts very seriously. As much as she wanted to follow through on this endeavour and finally see this man received justice for his actions, she found herself calmer. Doing this the right way might not have been as satisfying, but Vivian was beginning to think this was the proper course of action. By the book, legal, all within proper Navy regulations. It would take time and it wouldn’t be pretty, but the result would be clean. A review of Frost’s actions on Skopje could be called into question and he would be seen for the killer he was. Locked by bars, he would trouble Vivian no longer. 

Going back into her office, she set her mug down on the desk.

“Decatur?” she asked aloud. The blue hologram appeared on the AI pedestal beside her desk. He put his heels together and stood at attention. 

“Ma’am?”

“I’d like to contact Rear Admiral Travers via video transmission. Can you prepare the link and connect us through this monitor?” she asked, jerking her thumb towards the bulkhead-mounted screen behind her. 

“Certainly, Captain!” 

The AI tipped his hat, stamped his foot, and disappeared. Vivian knew it wouldn’t take long so she quickly finished her coffee and returned the mug to the sink. She filled it with water and planned to wash it afterwards. Hastily, she turned to the officer and waited in front of the monitor. She felt nervous and paradoxically prepared for what was about to happen. It felt like she was coming to the end of a long, long road. At the end of it, she could sleep peacefully at night and would be rid of the shadows who dogged her every step. Even at that moment, she felt their dark, oppressive presence around her. She closed her eyes, seeing their slender shapes, wiry, wet hair, ivory eyes, and the rivers of blood running down their faces. They may not have been pleased with this course of action but she didn’t care. This was going to put the matter to rest for good. 

Decatur appeared, Vivian opened her eyes, and the darkness was gone. The AI smiled up at her. 

“Captain, you may—”

There was a knock on the door and it startled Vivian slightly. 

“Who is it?”

“Sergeant Frost, Captain.”

Vivian froze for what felt like an hour. She gulped and swallowed hard.

“Come in, Sergeant.”

The door slid open and Frost revealed himself. He was still clad in his utility uniform and he stood at attention. His brown hair was neatly combed and he was clean-shaven. The Sergeant seemed freshly washed as she could smell the familiar scent of standard issue soap in the air. 

Fibers in her muscles pulsed and jumped. She wanted to lunge across the room and wrap her hands around his neck. All she wanted to do was squeeze until the light his gray eyes went out. Then, the nightmares would stop. Then, she could sleep. Then and only then, could she get rid of the shadows. The images flashed through her mind like a slideshow and proved to be tantalizing she had to blink several times to shake off the feeling. Vivian faced him and folded her hands behind her back. “Yes, Sergeant?”

“Ma’am, Dr. Ebrahimi got out of surgery. I thought it’d be prudent to inform you that the wounded man is going to make a full recovery.”

Vivian forced a smile.

“Dr. Ebrahimi informed just five minutes ago, but thank you nonetheless, Sergeant.

Frost smiled.

“So Doc Jasmine beat me to it, huh? I should have figured.”

There was an uncomfortable silence that lasted for several minutes. Vivian didn’t know what to say as she inwardly battled with herself, retraining the violent urges that rose and reverated around her heart. Frost chewed his bottom lip slightly and then shrugged. “Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”

“Granted.”

“Captain, I’ve been at war for a long time. I’ve lost a lot of friends and seen a lot of people go down. Now that I’m a squad leader, I’ve become painfully aware that sometimes it’s an order that  _ I  _ give that’s going to get someone killed. But I’ve accepted that sometimes things are just going to be out of my hands. We want to have control over everything but war doesn’t work that way. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I hope this isn’t weighing on you too heavily. This wasn’t your fault.”

Vivian stared at him for a few moments. He shrugged again and smiled. “That’s all I have to say, Captain. With your permission, I’ll see myself out.”

“Sergeant, will you be able to follow your own advice? If you lose Marines?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his smile fading. “I can’t tell you until it happens.”

“I understand,” Vivian murmured. “Thank you, Sergeant, you’re dismissed.”

Frost nodded, left, and the door shut behind him. Vivian stared at the closest door for a long time, or at least what felt like a long time. Eventually, she looked over at Decatur. The AI looked up at her. 

“Gow gentlemanly. Shall we proceed with the transmission?”

Vivian’s eyes fell. 

“I’ve changed my mind. Cancel the link, I’ll contact the Rear Admiral at another time.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

The AI winked away, leaving Vivian standing beside her desk. Eventually, she sat down in the chair and covered her face with both hands. 


	24. Punishment

The morning after the accidental discharge in the Armory, Frost drifted into the mess hall for breakfast. Instead of the usual buzz of voices, the countless conversations were rather hushed. Used to the overwhelming noise of Marines and Navy personnel at mess, Frost slowed down and took in the sight. Everyone seemed to be leaning in, keeping their shoulders hunched, and their heads down. Most kept to their own branch of service and only a few mingled at the tables.

Warily, he collected his breakfast consisting of two slices of buttered toast, four slices of bacon, two fried eggs, a red apple, and a cup of coffee. Sitting down between Knight and Bishop, facing Grant, Steele, Most, and Langley on the opposite side. Maddox was just sitting down as well, sitting beside Bishop who was on Frost’s left. Steele, sitting directly across from the Sergeant, propped his arm up on the edge of the table and resisted his chin. 

“Looking trim today, are we?” Steele remarked before taking an obnoxiously large bite of bacon. Frost was freshly shaved and his light brown hair was cropped, although was still thick enough he could sweep it back slightly.

“I have a wonderful barber,” Frost replied with a grin. Steele, who was handy with a pair of scissors and took care of the squad’s grooming needs, chuckled. He was clearly satisfied with his work. The conversation meandered through the normal topics they’d been discussing since 2534. First, it began with the quality of the food and how much better it was than munching on MRE’s in the field. Then, it folded into the kind of food the UNSC gave their personnel in general and how old the MRE’s were anyways. Finally, it was punctuated by a healthy dose of complaining over their crummy rations and hoped they wouldn’t have to give up the good grub of the  _ I’m Alone  _ anytime soon.

While Frost sipped the steaming hot coffee, the others finished their meals and got up to put away their trays. Only Steele remained with the squad leader and began to drink the coffee he hadn’t touched since his friend sat down. It was a habit of his; whatever beverage accompanied his meal, he didn’t start drinking it until his tray was clear. 

“I was thinking of finding some way to get planetside.”

“Sick of ship life already?”

“I think I might be able to smuggle some booze up here. Just have to find a liquor store.”

“In your dreams, Louie.”

“Guess we’ll have to wait until we go rescue the next colony. I’m sure the  _ grateful  _ citizens of the Colonies will be happy to give us some. Or, when no one’s looking, we can raid a shop.”

“We’re Marines, Lou, not looters.”

“A barrel of fun as usual,” Steele grumbled. The two sat quietly, Frost digging into what remained of his meal and Steele loudly slurping his coffee. Frost sat sideways on the bench, scanning the rest of the mess hall. Here and there, someone laughed. There was some cursing too, followed by louder conversation. Little by little, the mess hall was beginning to take on its usual appearance. He began to see more smiling faces among the Marines and sailors. Perhaps, the discussion was shifting from yesterday’s events to lighter topics. Morale was too high for the crew of the  _ I’m Alone  _ to linger on it. It made Frost confident that they could take whatever the Covenant could throw at them later on. 

When he looked back at his friend, he found Steele staring at him inquisitively. Frost quirked an eyebrow. Steele bounced his own and took a sip. “Took a walk last night, didn’t you?”

“I went to see the Captain,” Frost explained. “Just wanted to say something about what happened. I mean, think about it. She’s young, she’s got this new command, and almost losing someone has got to be difficult. You remember what it was like losing Ocampo.”

Steele’s intrigued smile faded briefly. His expression became taciturn and he looked away. Eventually, he shrugged.

“Does shooting yourself in the leg count as friendly fire?” 

Deflecting was Steele’s way of dealing with difficult topics. Deflection, and changing the conversation to someone else. Frost found it somber he couldn’t talk about it but had accepted it long ago. Tracing the rim of his coffee mug, he shook his head.

“I don’t think they have anything in the manual about it.”

“Is that all you and the Captain did? Talk?”

“What else would we do?”

“Something interesting for Christ’s sake,” Steele groaned, turning sideways himself.

“Suppressing a mutiny isn’t exciting enough for you?”

“Kinda  _ basic  _ compared to some of the shit we’ve done. Like  _ ramming  _ a  _ fucking  _ Scarab.” Steele set his mug down and pointed at Frost. “Let’s never do that again please.” At his friend’s feigned exasperated tone, Frost couldn’t help but chuckle. He nodded in agreement. After a few moments, Steele looked at him thoughtfully again and offered a sly smile. “You and the Captain got something going on? She did nothing but eyeball you when we were on the  _ Best of the Best _ .”

All Frost could do was shrug.

“We’ve talked once or twice before. Kind of weird for a Navy officer and a Marine grunt to chat, but that’s mainly all we did. I guess she knows my face and it’s rather hard not to know her.”

Vivian Waters was often the talk of the crew. In just a short time, she had gone from a speedy but otherwise unnoteworthy ascent through the Navy pipeline serving in the Home Fleet to a full-fledged Captain of a special operations battlegroup. Thanks to her, an entire Marine MEU and Army garrison were saved, was awarded the Silver Star, she had blitzed through several Covenant ships, and had crushed a mutiny—all in a few months. Everybody knew her and sang her praises, especially among the Navy men and women. The Marines were thankful for the rescue but they were more reserved about it. Probably more than any other enlisted man in the 89 th , Frost did have a few interactions with her. She left an impression of being serious, dedicated, and hardworking. He appreciated she was able to drop the formalities when it was just one-on-one. She was fresh to war and that was encouraging to somebody like Frost. Yet, there was a latent sadness around her and he did notice her emerald gaze was especially intense. 

Steele stared at him, unimpressed. Finally, he sighed and took a slug from his coffee mug. 

“Boring. What about the doc?”

“We talk, too.” Steele stared at him, then waved his other hand rapidly. Frost shrugged again. “We just sort of end up in the same part of the  _ I’m Alone  _ from time to time. I like talking with her, she’s really thoughtful. Smart. Unlike this squad...” Frost bounced his eyebrow as he took a loud sip from his coffee. Steele pretended to laugh, making it loud and dry, and slapped the edge of the table for emphasis. He went on and on, staggering his fake laughter and shaking his head.

“Oh you’re just so  _ fucking hilarious _ , Nate. Boy, you got me.” 

“Alright, I get it.”

“No, no, I mean it, you’re  _ sooo _ funny.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something interesting.”

Before Frost could say anything more, Steele sat up a little bit more. He nodded towards the bow entrance to the mess hall. Frost turned in his seat and saw Jasmine walking in. She was tired; dark bags sat under her eyes, her gait was slow, her shoulders hunched, and her long hair was frazzled despite being tied back into a ponytail. Beside her was Captain Waters, who appeared better rested. She was talking to Jasmine, her expression somewhat concerned, while Jasmine did her best to follow along. 

Steele leaned forward, an eager smile on his face. 

“Which one would you fuck, go.”

“I don’t want to play these games, dude.”

“You’re duller than usual. Don’t you want to talk about stuff normal people do?”

Normalcy was something far off for both of them, Frost thought. Louis-Henry Steele was a disaffected youth with an absentee father, abusive stepmother, and a poor, influential older brother. Slum kids were his only source of family and it was not a way for a child to grow up. The Marine Corps was an escape route out of that life. As traumatic as it was, he seemed to have made his peace with it. Compared to the hellish nightmare the war with the Covenant was shaping up to be, such a bad life was closer to normal. 

It was difficult not to reflect on his own life. A sheltered life with four sisters and his parents, both respected professors of music history, was his old normal. They divided their time between a splendid apartment in Halifax and a ranch home where his oldest sister raised horses. It was a great way to grow up but even as a youth, Frost found it blank. He loved his family, loved their homes, but there was always something missing. Even after all these years, he hadn’t figured it out. It was a mystery that dogged and perplexed him, even as a child. It made a life that seemed easy, carefree, and simple feel infinitely complex. The Earthen Youth Programs seemed like a path to figure out why. While the answer was still out of reach, the Marine Corps provided a life he understood and he knew where he was in the war machine. This was their normal now and he understood the need for men like Steele and the others did return to a different plane of normal, one in which there was no killing. 

“I guess that’s one of the reasons why I like talking to Dr. Jasmine. She’s understanding and, well, it’s such a simple thing to say, but she’s easy to talk to. And at least I can talk to her about things I don’t like talking about with you guys.”

Steele set his mug down on the table hard in. He pretended to be hurt, folded his arms across his chest, and raised his chin.

“You  _ wound  _ me, bruv. To think there’s stuff you don’t talk to your poor buddy Steele about.”

Still smiling, Frost shook his head and found his gaze drawn back towards the pair of officers. Waters had departed to speak to a cadre of duty officers at a nearby table. Standing apart from her, Jasmine looked around. Eventually, she caught Frost’s eyes, smiled softly, and waved a little. Frost returned it and decided he would speak with her. Just as he got up, a pair of hands clamped onto his shoulders and forced him back down.

“Nate, I was just thinking, can you sing the California song?” Grant asked him eagerly. The others gathered around, amused. Frost looked over at Jasmine, who was smiling. He offered a sheepish smile and craned his neck to look back at his friends.

“I’ve taught you that song a hundred times and you still haven’t memorized it?”

“No, it’s better when you sing out. Do the funny voice.”

“The funny voice...dude, that’s just how people talked back then!”

“C’mon, do it, man!”

* * *

“... _ California, here I come, yeah! _

_ Right where I started from _

_ Where bowers, are flowers, bloom in the spring _

_ Each morning, at dawning _

_ Birdies sing and everything _

_ A sun, kissed, miss said "Don't be late!" _

_ That's why I can hardly wait _

_ Open up, open up, open up that Golden Gate!  _

_ California...here I come!” _

Standing on the other side of the mess hall, Jasmine watched as Frost finished singing a strange song. He was standing with one of his feet on the bench and the other on the tabletop. One arm was swung out dramatically while the other was placed firmly over his heart. He wore a big smile. It was an odd tune and he sang in a cheesy voice she’d never heard anyone talk in before. But his squad and the Marines around him jeered and cheered, clapped, whistled, and made some choice comments about showing some skin. It was certainly a sight and Jasmine began to forget just how tired she was. 

After he finished, he took a few bows and the Marines cheered. As the small crowd dispersed, Jasmine walked over. Everybody was just resuming their seats but when they saw her coming they all stood, even Steele although he only did when Frost glared menacingly at him. 

“Quite a song,” Jasmine remarked, giving a slight wave of her hand. The Marines took their seats except for Frost. 

“20 th Century, 1924, Al Jolson. My parents are professors of music history and I shared the song with Grant here a while back,” Frost tapped his friend on the back. “He’s from California in the United Republic of North America.”

“Is that the only song you know?” Jasmine asked.

“He’s got about a thousand songs in his head there,” Bishop interjected before biting off a piece of bacon. “Like having a walking music player.”

Jasmine giggled politely. She looked at Frost, who seemed a bit bashful. Eventually, he cleared his throat.

“Care to join us, Lieutenant Commander?”

“I don’t see why not,” Jasmine said, not paying much mind to the fraternization regulations. First, she went and collected a tray, got her breakfast, and then looped back. She sat down between Frost and Nora Langley, the corpsman. Most of the others had already eaten but had swiped enough food to constitute a second meal. Many of the Marines around them appeared to be indulging in the practice. They were the most controlled about their eating habits and made a mess, but looking at some of the Navy enlisted persons she realized they weren’t much better. Almost everybody ate with their hands instead of the utensils and, feeling awkward, put hers down then continued eating.  
“Was it bad in the OR, ma’am?” Lance Corporal Grant asked. 

“It was smoother than some, worse than others. The extraction was difficult, because we had to be mindful of the artery. Compared to repairing the other damage, that was the easy part. But he’ll make a full recovery.”

“Good thing he had you looking out for him,” Frost remarked. “I think we can all rest easier knowing we got Doc Jasmine on our shoulders,” he said to his squad. The others nodded and voiced their agreement. Jasmine only smiled, unsure of what to say or do. She didn’t feel accomplished, only relieved. It was a very long surgery on top of her other duties. Passing the casualty off to another surgeon would have been acceptable but she was the first on the scene and already with her team. There was no rest even after she finished, having to catch up on her other administrative work and volunteering to help the team monitor his recovery. She felt responsible for him; he was a youthful man and in good health. Losing him to something as unpredictable as a bullet would have been a blow to Jasmine and the ship’s morale. The entire operation, she felt the pain in her own leg, felt woozy as if she was the one losing blood, but endeavoured regardless. It was a battle of two fronts; one to save his life and one against her own condition. 

Jasmine tried not to dwell on it. Just thinking about it made her feel even more exhausted than she already was. Taking a break from her food, she set her glasses down and rubbed her eyes. When she looked to the side, she found Frost gazing at her in concern. “Is every operation like that?”

“In an emergency response? There’s no telling.” But Jasmine flashed him the brightest smile she could muster. “All part of the job.”

“Lack of sleep can be a real killer,” Frost replied. “During the Siege of De Longue 7, we went forty hours without sleep. It was like being in a bad dream. By the end, we were so tired we thought we were hallucinating.”

The conversation’s turn reduced the participants to nodding and grunts. People began to pick at their food. Jasmine wanted to say something, not just as an officer but as a fellow service member, to cheer them up. In the end, it was Corporal Steele who did. 

“You want a siege? Try getting this man to get a haircut,” he said to her. The sniper pointed at Frost, who blinked in surprise. “Should have taken ten minutes  _ tops _ . He was in my chair for twenty-five bawling and kicking and carrying on.”

Everyone snickered. Frost shook his head and pointed at Steele angrily.

“Untrue, entirely untrue!”

Jasmine chuckled politely. Only in the military could service members go from discussing an accidental discharge, surgery, and sieges, to something as unrelated as a haircut. 

“When I was in medical school, we had a professor named Bent. He was well-respected and it got into his head. He was always checking his hair and looking in the mirror. Because he thought he was some bigshot, he became a really harsher grader. Harsher than any teacher I’ve ever had. We got sick of it towards the end of our semester so a bunch of the students got together, were able to get some sleeping pills, and swapped them with the acid reducers he took before class. When he went out, and I mean really  _ out _ , we shaved his entire head. Nobody squealed, not even the TA, and he gave the whole class an F for participation that day. But he lightened up bit.”

“Hot damn, who knew Doc was such a rebel!”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Got any more stories like that?”

“What’s a TA?”

“Dr. Ebrahimi.”

Everyone turned and found Captain Waters standing aside. They all stood up, including Jasmine. Vivian’s expression was serious but not grave. “Planetside brass sent the transports for the prisoners. I’d like you to oversee the transfer of the wounded to Hangar 01, please.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“We’ll take care of your tray, Doc,” Grant said.

“Take care, Lieutenant Commander,” Frost added. 

“You as well,” Jasmine said, then smiled at the rest of the squad. “All of you.”

Vivian turned sharply on her heel and began heading to the exit. Jasmine fell in step and looked at her warily. 

“Did you eat?” Vivian asked.

“If you’re mad at me, just say so.”

“All I wanted to know is if you ate.”

“A little.”

“Well, after this I’d like you to take it easy.” 

Jasmine blinked.

“Viv, about back there...”

“It’s not an issue right now, Jas,” Vivian said quickly. It wasn’t sharp or unkind, but pained. It was as if it hurt her to say it. After a moment, she recovered, sighed, and finally looked over at Jasmine. I appreciate you’re making an effort to get to know the crew and the Marines. Just be aware of the regs. Take most of your meals in the wardroom, please.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

* * *

Vivian stood in Hangar 01 and observed Pelicans sent from UNSC  _ Winter’s Keep _ touch down. Although Reach had requested the prisoners’, they did not send up the craft to transfer them.  _ Winter’s Keep _ , docked in one of the nearby anchorages, sent its dropships instead. She was surprised to see the ship’s commanding officer, Captain Hasanoglu, step out of the first aircraft. He was a frontline officer who had been able to see his own ships through a number of bad fights. Outnumbered and outgunned, he managed to bring most of his ships out unscathed while inflicting heavy damage on the enemy.

She looked over to the prisoners. They were lined up, their wrists in handcuffs. For each prisoner, there were two ODSTs. Major Holst was present for the transfer as well. Soon enough, Jasmine arrived with her own security detail with the wounded on wheeled litters. Vivian viewed them with disdain; the sooner they were off the ship, the better, she figured. Briefly, she closed her eyes. Once they were gone, they could get back into the battlespace and start their operations. The concentration of command and battle would occupy her completely; in a way, it would be a relief from her ghosts. Maybe then, she could put this behind her. 

Captain Hasanoglu marched up to her and the formalities were exchanged. 

“Good to meet you.”

“Likewise. And this is all of them? Good.” the senior Captain said. He had a close crop of dark hair and a narrow, close-shaven face. After an exchange of data via their data pads, his detachment of Marines began to take command of the prisoners. The line began shuffling past Vivian. When Chamberlain was beside her, he stopped and looked at her. He was a defeated man, his shoulders hunched, head hung low, his posture sunken, and his eyes hollow. Still, he managed to meet her emerald gaze. 

“You know, I went through with it even though I wasn’t sure we could pull it off. The risk was worth it, I thought, because facing the Covenant and fighting in a war you can’t win is worse than getting caught.” He smiled weakly at her. “I wish I could be as convicted as you are, Captain Waters. But I wish you could be more sympathetic to people who are like you: from the Colonies and have seen the bad parts of the UNSC.”

That sent a chill down Vivian’s spine. Chamberlain noticed and nodded. “I know the look. It’s easy to read on any face. You must be some kind of prophet if you can put on the same uniform as the people who have been fucking over the Colonies for the past couple of centuries. I can’t imagine what your other choice was.”

“There was no other choice to make,” Vivian replied stiffly. Chamberlain shook his head. 

“We all have a choice to make, Captain Waters. At one point or another, we all have to cross a line.”

He said no more and followed the rest of the prisoners. In a matter of minutes, they were all escorted into the Pelicans. When the business was finished, Hasanoglu shook Vivian’s hand, returned to the leading dropship, and then the flight departed. It was a relief to have them off her ship indeed, but she was concerned by the grave expression on Holst’s face. He had overheard the conversation.

“Major?”

After a moment, he blinked and looked at her. He straightened up and nodded.

“Squared away, Captain. Chamberlain was just talking my ear off a few minutes ago. Couldn’t get him to shut up. Glad he’s gone.”

Vivian nodded warily, dismissed him, and checked the time. It was her training block and she was thankful for anything to take her mind off of things.

***

“Aim. Commence firing.”

Vivian squinted down the sights of her M6D and methodically fired twelve rounds in the enclosed range in the Armory. She was firing at a paper target of an Elite and she aimed high, knowing that their shields units took more damage in that region. All twelve rounds stuck the paper Elite’s head, leaving large holes. “Cease firing, cease firing on the firing line. Safety on, mag eject, weapon down.”

She complied and set everything down on the shelf in her firing unit. Slowly, she looked behind her. Sergeant Frost was standing there with ear protectors on, while she used simple plugs. His arms were folded across his chest and he was smiling. He and other Marine NCOs were observing at the range and running Navy personnel through shooting drills. It wasn’t the reprieve she was hoping for, but at least Vivian could distract herself with the weapon.Frost stepped in, took off his ear protectors, and began examining the M6D.

Stepping in beside her and removing his protectors, he picked up the M6D. First, he inspected the chamber to ensure it was empty and then checked the magazine. “Solid shooting, Captain. Good posture, good foot placement, complete control of the weapon, taking it slow and easy. When it’s not about fire superiority or suppression fire, accuracy is the key. M6 series is a damn good line of firearms; they’re not just backups, they’re very effective standard weapons. Place and time your shots right, you can kill an Elite’s shield and finish him off with a headshot. Grunts and Skirmishers, prime targets for an M6. Jackals get kind of tricky because of the shield.”

“Brutes?”

“They rely more on heavy armor. Only their higher-ranking officer types have access to shield units.” He shrugged a little. “But whose to say the Covvies won’t give them shields one day? Anyways, it’s better to pick them off from a distance or use explosives. You don’t want to get up close and personal with them. Elites too, for that matter, but they’re more predictable.”

He set the weapon down. “M6D is a solid shooter. M6E’s tend to be our lot, but NCOs can expect M6C’s. The D’s have more stopping power by the C’s have an advantage in fire rate.”

The targets were changed out. Frost looked up, stepped back, and put on his protectors. “Alright, let’s see if you can do that again. Load!”

Vivian inserted a fresh magazine that was on the shelf. She assumed a proper firing posture and aimed. “Fire!”

Once again, she squeezed another twelve rounds down range. The rounds ripped through the paper Elite’s head, reducing it to tatters. “Cease fire. Safety on, check weapon, eject magazine.”

Again, Frost stepped in and examined the target down range. He chuckled a bit. “That’s great, Captain, you’d put some Marines I know to shame.” He tapped her on the shoulder. “You’re pretty good.”

Vivian’s eyes widened. The range disappeared and she plunged into darkness. Then, there was a bare white light through a series of vertical slats. Walking up to them, Vivian peered through. There was a form in the dark, his legs partly illuminated by the light attached to his MA5B. On the floor, a bloodied body wheezed and coughed. As the man approached, she snapped her pistol up and fired. Blinded by the muzzle flash, Vivian opened her eyes a moment later. But she was no longer standing. Instead, she was on her back and staring upwards into the dark. A hand clutched her wrist, preventing her from drawing her pistol on him. He wrested it from her hand and began to reach behind me. “Almost got me,” he said in a stoic voice. “You’re pretty good.”

He leaned closer. It was Frost.

“Murderer,” Vivian growled.

  
  


A bell rang throughout the Armory. Everyone stopped what they were doing. It signaled the end of the training period and the call to supper. Frost walked out of Captain Waters’ section and cupped his hands around his mouth. 

“Keep your safeties on, collect your mags, holster your weapons. I don’t want to see a single barrel while you walk out of here. Anybody who has a weapon out will be eating it!”

Many sailors passed by him, nodding and smiling. He was happy to see them in such good spirits after yesterday. It was also encouraging they were getting along so well with him and other Marines. On some ships he served on, there was an uncomfortable distance between the two service branches despite their physical proximity. It wasn’t good for morale. He was more than pleased, he was excited for the operations ahead. With the task group gelling well together, they were bound to meet success in their missions. 

As the Armory cleared out, he checked his watch. Afternoon mess was being served and the Armory was quickly vacant. At the exit, he spotted Steele and a number of his squad mates. The former waved at him.

“C’mon, mate! Let’s find a good seat in the house and eat!”

“On my way!” Frost said. The others waved and began filtering through the doors. He was about to follow when he heard someone behind him. Turning, he realized Captain Waters as still standing in her section of the firing range. For a moment, he regarded her warily. Her back was turned, her shoulders were heaving, and she was breathing heavily. “Captain?”

She did not reply. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder. Her emerald eyes were wide and wild, her teeth were bared and clenched. 

“You...” she growled. 

“Captain?” Frost asked, holding a hand out. 

“I know what you did!” she hollered at him. Before Frost could react, she slid a loaded magazine into her M6D, flicked the safety off, and turned around. Frost immediately put his hands up as she aimed at his head. “I know who you are, Jack the Ripper!”


	25. Confrontation

Vivian’s hands trembled as she aimed the M6D at Frost’s head. The Marine, wide-eyed, kept his hands in the air. He looked more perplexed than afraid and it just made her angrier. 

“You kill my friends,” she growled in a low tone. He blinked, shook his head, and shrugged slightly.

“Ma’am, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said slowly. She could tell he thought she was insane. He was speaking carefully, almost gently. Again, she felt her fury burning brighter than before. Shooting him seemed too easy, too quick. She wanted to drop it and tear into him, rip him apart with her bare hands until his flesh was stuck under her fingernails, until her face was coated with his blood, until he couldn’t be recognized by his own mother. The rage bubbled and roiled and flowed throughout her entire body. It was the greatest adrenaline spike she ever experienced in her life and she was already addicted to it. Her mind played out the scene, she could already hear him wailing, and see the ghosts standing proudly over the corpse as they howled victoriously. 

He took a single step, his footfall echoing against the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ titanium bulkheads. She took a step backwards but thrust the pistol forward against. Frost’s hands fell momentarily and he looked at her with a betrayed expression. Eventually, he swallowed hard and reached out. “Captain, please, why don’t you just give me that weapon and we can go see the doctor?”

“You know what you did!” Vivian screamed, her teeth gnashing. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about now give me that weapon!” Frost shouted back, not in anger nor in fear, but in desperation.

“Skopje. 2537, seven years ago. Five teenage girls.”

He blinked, confused. 

“Skopje? I don’t remember shooting any...”

His gray eyes fell, then they wided, and his jaw dropped. He seemed stunned to the point of being frozen. Only his twitching fingers and shaking head denoted he was still present. Vivian felt her lips twist into a sinister, sadistically satisfied smile. “Yes,  _ yes _ , it really is you. Jack the Ripper. You remember now, don’t you?”

“How do you know about that?” Frost said, his voice barely rising above a whisper. 

“I was there,” Vivian answered bitterly, practically speaking through her teeth. “In the dark, I watched you gun them down without a second thought. You finished my friend Roseanna off with that knife you’re so fond of using.”

“She was the last one,” he murmured, then shook his head. “No, Captain, you don’t understand. I was trying to—”

“I don’t want to hear any lies!” Vivian hollered. “You’re a murderer!”

Frost suddenly stood up straight. He appeared indignant, as if it wasn’t the accusation but the word itself that offended him. Standing straight like a warrior, he rained his chin defiantly and began walking towards her. Vivian began to back up.

“I am a Marine...” Frost started.

“...I’ve dreamed of you...” Vivian seethed.

“...my duty is to engage the enemies of the UNSC and the UEG...”

“...of finding you...”

“...and engage in ground warfare with them...”

“...you’re going to pay...”

“...to kill them,” Frost lowered his gaze and held out his arms “I’m sorry your friends had to die young, but they were armed and committing treason!”

“It doesn’t matter! They were my only friends, they were passionate, idealistic, they believed in things when I didn’t, and they were good,  _ good _ people!”

Vivian felt her back pressed against the closed door of the shooting range. Briefly, she glanced over her shoulder to see where she stood. In that instant, she realized her mistake. Just as she looked forward, Frost charged at her. His hand snatched her wrist and he twisted her arm painfully. Unable to squeeze the trigger, Vivian fought for control of the pistol. She was holding on to it with both hands while Frost kept turning her arm, keeping the barrel of the pistol pointed away from him. Grunting, groaning, growling, he began to gain control. Looking up, his eyes ablaze, he reached forward with his other hand and grabbed Vivian’s throat. He was strong enough that he was pinning her to the wall and nearly taking her off her feet. 

She didn’t panic. Wrestling one hand off her pistol, she swung and struck Frost against the cheek. The blow didn’t stop him entirely but she used the opportunity to bring her free hand down on his outstretched arm. His grip released and Vivian charged into him. Her momentum didn’t carry them far. Careening onto the floor, they entered a grappling match that was only broken when one tried to reach for the pistol beside them. 

On top of him, Vivian tried to strike but he blocked her blows. He brought his leg up high, knocking her off balance. Just as she was forced forward, Frost sat up, wrapped his arms around her, and spun them around so he was on top. He was speaking to her, shouting something, but Vivian couldn’t hear. Her emerald eyes were wild, her teeth bared, and she was growling like a wolf about to strike its prey. Wriggling her arms out of his grip, she grabbed his face and began to turn his head, craning his neck. 

That’s when she saw the scabbard on his belt. Vivian yanked on Frost’s KA-BAR knife. Before she could drive it into him, he caught her wrist with one hand. Slowly, he began to turn the knife. Vivian would not give up; the shadows around her were dancing and cheering. Suddenly, a larger one appeared. Frost’s eyes popped as he was dragged off Vivian and thrown backwards. Scrambling to her feet, she rushed at her stunned opponent but found herself face to face with Colonel Hayes.

The massive Marine officer grabbed her wrist and turned her forearm up sharply at an angle. It was so painful Vivian’s hand instinctively released the knife. Before she could speak, she felt a straight weightlessness, and realized she was being lifted up. Thrown hard on the deck, the wind was knocked out of her and she began to gasp on the cool titanium. Looking over, she saw Frost get back on his feet. On the deck, the KA-BAR knife glinted in the white light. He went for it, but Hayes kicked away, tripped his Marine, and in the same instant caught him. Lifting Frost’s left arm up, Hayes lowered him into a sitting position and kept him in a headlock. 

“What the fuck is going on here!?” he screamed. 

“The Captain was going to kill me, sir,” Frost said through his teeth, the headlock almost constricting his breathing.

“Sergeant Frost is a murderer...” Vivian wheezed. “...he killed my friends on Skopje.”

“I have a mind to throw you both in the ship’s brig and let Solak take command,” Hayes growled, then hastily looked around. “We need to move. You both need to  _ unfuck  _ yourselves and get on your feet. We’re going to discuss this like civilized people. Sergeant, if I let you go are you going to behave?”

“Only if that bitch does,” Frost snarled.

“ _ Sergeant _ .”

“Yes, sir,” the Marine replied in a defeated tone, as if he was a child being scolded by his parents. Hayes released his Marine, who stormed away a few steps, muttering to himself and shaking his head. More than once, Vivian heard him use the word, ‘bullshit.’ Before he could pick up either his KA-BAR knife or the M6D, Hayes retrieved them both. He then looked at Vivian. “Captain?” She was hesitant to answer. Her blood was still boiling and her hands trembled. The urge to fight, maim, and kill still remained in possession of every faculty. To renege now seemed to go against her own nature. But she looked at Hayes’ cold expression, glanced at the weapons he held in either hand, and then closed her eyes.

“Agreed, Colonel,” she muttered.

“Good. Lead us to your cabin, Captain, before somebody stumbles across this.”

***

It was the longest walk of Vivian’s life. She felt as though she entered another dimension, some other plane of existence, in which this was acceptable. Head down, eyes on her feet, she hated herself twofold. Her emotions ran free and guided her down a path she swore she would not take. That was more than a mistake, it was a weakness. Inability to maintain control was the truest flaw of any combat leader, no matter if they were a duty officer or a vice admiral. Coming to terms with her own weakness to control herself, let alone the situation, was not easy for Vivian. Yet, there was also the ridiculous yet ultimately enraging aspect she had not succeeded. If she had, somehow the prison sentence that no doubt awaited her would be worth it.

Once the door to her officer slid shut and she went to the other side of her desk, Hayes glared at them both. “Captain Waters, you’ve done right by me and the Marines of the 89 th . It is out of respect for your actions that I am not immediately reporting you. The same goes for you, Sergeant Frost. If you weren’t one of the best NCO’s I’ve ever come across in the Corps, you’d be serving time on Reach within the month. Now sit down, both of you!”

Vivian assumed her seat and Frost grudgingly sat down on the opposite side. They glared at one another and then observed Hayes as he stood adjacent to the desk, like a referee between two boxers. “Captain, Skopje was a bloodbath. On one side, there were Marines and Army troops pulling bush tactics right out of the 25 th Century Insurrection era, and then there were insurgent fights wearing civilian clothes all over the place. A lot of people died and I believe you when you say your friends were killed.”

“It was tantamount to murder, sir. They were just teenagers, dumb kids, and they got gunned down like they were full-fledged enemy combatants.”

“Sir, I can assure you that I didn’t engage outside the ROE parameters outlined during the operation briefing,” Frost said professionally.

“Say your piece, son.”

Frost briefly regurgitated the tale Vivian saw so many times over in her mind. He breached into the room and was immediately confronted by an armed unknown in civilian clothes. After she failed to drop her weapon at his command, he shot her. When he went into the room, he could see four more females who were armed with pistols and a single dead man in tactical gear. Seeing they were armed and he was outnumbered, he opened fire. Only one heavily wounded hostile survived and when he went to administer first aid and capture her, she fired on him, then drew a knife, forcing him to kill her. That was too much for Vivian. She stood up, slammed her hand on the desk, and pointed at him.

“Liar! You were going to torture her!”

“Captain, get a grip!” Hayes ordered. 

“I may be a killer but I don’t torture people,” Frost said defensively. 

“You’re lying!”

Hayes was a big man with a vise-grip and bulging arms. After a moment of resistance, Vivian was forced back into her seat. After a few moments, he released her and stood back up.

“I recall the after-action reports. It was your first combat op; you were a Lance Corporal Lieutenant Conroy cited you for a Commendation Medal.” That made Vivian bristle. Hayes turned to her. “So what do you want me to do about this, Captain?”

It was Vivian’s chance. She was not sure if she would get another one.

“It is my belief that Sergeant Frost failed to administer proper commands for the occupants of that room to disarm themselves, as well, he failed to provide a warning shot or any other primitive, non-aggressive action to signify the occupants were about to be taken under fire. Due to these failures in regard to the standard UNSC ROE, I demand we open an investigation into his conduct during the operation with the intent to bring him to a court martial.”

Hayes regarded her silently. Frost looked at his commanding officer not in fear but with a hopeful intensity. When the senior infantry officer failed to speak, the NCO glared at Vivian. 

“You might have been there, watching, hiding, but you don’t understand war, Captain. A UNSC Marine has to adapt, improvise, move fast, and be aggressive to complete their mission. I’ve  _ memorized  _ the rules of engagement, ma’am, and I assure you I did not exceed them. My actions were perfectly acceptable, and—”

“Sergeant Frost, shut up.”

“But, sir!”

“ _ Shut up _ , Nathaniel.” Hayes' tone was a low growl, like a dog suspecting an infiltrator into their owner’s home. Slowly, he turned his gaze on Vivian. He inhaled deeply and his gaze softened. 

“I understand your feelings, Captain Waters, more than you could ever understand. You can find in me no one more sympathetic to those who have lost people close to them. However, I was present at this engagement with my men, and I have access to the after-action reports submitted by Lieutenant Conroy and corroborated reports made by Sergeant Frost’s squad leader at that time, Sergeant Teo. With complete impartiality, I believe that Sergeant Frost did not exceed the ROE and acted in a manner befitting of the UNSC Marine Corps.”

Vivian stood up, shaking all over. 

“Colonel,  _ please _ , these were my friends.”

“Yes, they were, and they were armed and collaborating with Insurrectionists.” Hayes stood up straight. “I fought during the last years of the Insurrection period, just before the war with the Covenant kicked off. If you think people hated them  _ then _ , I can tell you, they hate them even more now. Deserting fellow humans in a period of genocidal war is a kind of treason that transcends politics, governments, and allegiances. Even if I did agree, trust me, your case would be booted out the door the moment you mentioned your friends.”

Vivian turned her gaze on Frost. The Marine did not look smug, honorable even in his decisive victory. His rugged facial expressions fostered an intense expression of betrayal and animosity. Unaware of her own, Vivian was sure she exuded similar feelings. “And I won’t be bringing you up on charges, Captain.”

Frost’s eyes popped and he looked up at his commanding officer.

“Sir, you can’t be serious!” he exclaimed. “She tried to shoot me! She tried to stab me with my own knife!”

“Sergeant, shut up and sit down.”

“Sir—”

“That’s an order, Sergeant.”

Frost groaned loudly and slumped back into his feet. Vivian’s confused gaze was met by Hayes’ cold one. “We owe you, Captain Waters. I don’t like owing people. So consider things settled; you save our lives on Ambition, and I won’t report you for attacking one of my Marines. Clearly, you were briefly overtaken by an emotional outburst and such behavior can be forgiven, but only once.”

“This is such bullshit,” Frost murmured. Hayes’ head snapped in his direction.

“One more word out of you, mister, and I’ll bust you all the way back down to private!” Hayes walked over to Vivian. “Only once, Captain. You’re a fine young officer and I considered a pleasure to work alongside such a promising newcomer to the war. Strangely, I still believe that. Don’t let us down or you won’t be dealing with the law offices. You’ll be dealing with me,  _ personally _ . And I won’t give a shit as to how it appears in the report.”

Colonel Hayes folded his hands behind his back and stood in a stately fashion. “And Sergeant Frost, you will obey Captain Waters’ orders as an assignee to this ship. You will bestow unto her all the respect befitting of her rank and you will  _ continue  _ to act per the rigid and demanding standards of the UNSC Marine Corps.”

It was code: do not seek retribution or he’d have to deal with Hayes’ frontier justice as well. Vivian was too defeated and exhausted to bother pointing out how contradictory it was to order two individuals to obey law under the threat of being punished outside it. Frost was more put out than depressed. “You will both continue to act in your capacities. You will both say  _ nothing  _ to your peers. You will both agree.”

Vivian slowly looked up and met Frost’s eyes. Mumbling something to himself and shaking his head, Frost sighed. 

“Agreed, sir.” 

Hayes looked at Vivian. She looked back at him, her eyes welling with tears. Eventually, she was able to swallow the lump in her throat. 

“Yes,” she said, her voice rising just above a whisper.

Whatever Hayes or Frost said after that, she didn’t know. She didn’t hear them, or perhaps chose not to. But when the door to her cabin shut, she stood up a few moments later. Grabbing her terminal, she winded her arms back to smash it against the wall. Stopping just short, she released an exasperated gasp, sat it down, and then buried her face into her hands.

* * *

Frost carried it with him all day and into the night. Keeping it from his squad, who he knew must have noticed his taciturn and withdrawn mood, was harder than he expected. They were his family, even Nora Langley, one of the platoon’s new corpsmen. She was fast becoming their little sister and he was glad for having her around. Laying on his back in his bunk, he looked at her sleeping soundly on her cot. Her breathing was quite subdued, compared to the stuffy noses and rattling, snoring lungs of his larger compatriots like Knight and Bishop. 

He felt betrayed, although it was being supplanted by ripe idingation from the betrayal of his commanding officer. Hayes was a legendary Marine and was talked about with the reverence of a demigod. Even when they were new arrivals in boot camp, Hayes was talked about by the drill instructors in a legendary fashion. When word came down he would be taking personal command of the 89 th , a young sixteen year old Frost’s heart swelled. After seven years of brutal warfare, he was still proud to call himself one of Hayes’ Fighting Sons. Many of the colorful ribbons on his rack were owed to Hayes and many of the traditions the seasoned officer believed in held great weight with Frost too. It was like being failed by a family member; the unconditional nature of the relationship did not allow for it. 

His mind wandered and he rolled over. Skopje came to mind; he remembered that rainy first night and marveled how by the next day it was snowing. Prior reports indicated the cool weather patterns and the heavy development of the planet. It was not as developed as they said it was; Lionel City was a sprawling metropolis by the sea but beyond it were expansive grasslands, deep double-canopy woods that crept all the way up onto a massive mountain chain. It was a hard, hard land that bred harder people, at least those who lived outside the cities. The Insurrectionists were a tough bunch and capable of great evil. Many of the Marines, surprised to be fighting Innies instead of Covvies, were appalled by the concept of killing other men. But when they saw the evils committed by the Innies, it became a true bush war, and after the first few days, there was no concept like the rules of engagement. 

Frost felt uneasy at having left that part out of the discussion. Hayes had as well and clearly ONI Sec-One and Sec-Two had done their jobs of covering up the brutal nature of the operation. Lying was not something Frost liked to do and despite how Vivian threatened him with it, he believed in the rule of law. At least, to a degree, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that thought. 

He closed his eyes. Snow was on the ground, falling silently. There was blood everywhere, not quite in pools but smears, like where a painter’s brush dabbed at the color on his palette. Heads, arms, hands, legs, feet, torsos were everywhere. Men and women were stripped of their clothes or their ACU’s were torn to pieces. Such sights sparked a fury he never knew before in his young life. All his hate was directed upon the Insurrectionists and he remembered how much glee he felt when they came at him, screaming ‘Jack the Ripper!’

Fighting Vivian reminded him of those brawls but it lacked the intense intimacy of the battles on Skopje. He hadn’t been trying to kill her, just disarm her in the hopes they could take. Then it evolved for a defense of his own life. As shocking as the affair was, he hadn’t been scared. Once the grappling began, he knew he could best Vivian, but he didn’t want to. Just thinking about her, though, made him angrier. Who was she to judge him? What right did she have to accuse him of murder? He did his best to sympathize; he too knew what it was like to lose good friends too. Losing fellow Marines in combat was like losing family members: brothers. Each one was a blow, a shock to all his nerves and synapses, a dampening on his spirit, and brought the emotions his training kept wrangled to burst. 

Suddenly, Dr. Jasmine came to his mind. It was jarring that his mind journeyed to her without pretense or forethought. Frost lay on his side, blinking. She offered that he could call on her always. He recalled speaking to her in the morning, even as her fatigue stunted her sociability, she still smiled, still laughed, and still talked. There was a great strength in that, he believed. The more he mulled over the doctor’s empathy and fortitude in the face of her gruesome tasks, the more he felt drawn to her at that moment.

He swung his legs out, widening them so as to avoid knocking over his boots. His utility uniform was draped over the rung at the end of his bed. After he donned it, he slid on a pair of socks and then his boots. When he finished lacing them, he stood up and nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a hand on the top of his head. Turning, he found Steele’s face at the edge of the top bunk. Frost sighed and Steele grinned.

“Where ya going?” he whispered.

Frost couldn’t say the bathroom, they had a personal one in their quarters. The mess hall wasn’t serving meals but they usually kept a skeleton staff there to maintain a few grills if a crew member wanted something hot, or if they wanted a drink, or went to go grab a snack item. But he couldn’t use that either, as Steele would surely want to go with him. 

“Just a walk,” he decided. Steele blinked.

“Want me to go with you?” he asked, his thick mop of blonde hair threatening to slide over his eyes. It was curly at the ends. Frost smiled and shook his head. “Good,” Steele replied, and then rolled over. 

Frost left and began walking down the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ halls. It was a bit of a hike through the ship to get from the barracks to the infirmary, and although he was tired, he enjoyed stretching his legs. Despite the dimmed lights of their barracks, the rest of the  _ I’m Alone  _ was alive and busy with the night watches. Maintenance crews filled the Hangars with sparks and noise. Duty officers drilled their parties at their stations. Marines and ODSTs honed their marksmanship skills at the Armory. These were sights common to Frost and the martial nature of it all reminded him how happy he was to be a Marine.

Eventually, he worked his way through the medical wing until he found Dr. Jasmine’s officer. He knocked on the door and waited for her to reply. After a minute, he knocked again, louder and longer this time. 

“Dr. Jasmine?” he added. He looked around. A trauma nurse was walking by. “Excuse me, is Dr. Jasmine in?”

“She should be,” the nurse said, checking her watch. “It’s an administrative work cycle for her and she only got off her sleeping shift an hour ago. She might be out.”

“Would be improper if I just went in and waited for her?”

The nurse pursed her lips, then shrugged.

“Go ahead. But don’t touch any of her things.”

Frost nodded and opened the door. He stepped in and closed it behind him. For a moment, he did think she was out as her desk was vacant. But when he turned to the right of the room, where he noticed some seating, he found her sleeping on the couch. She was lying on her back, one arm behind her head, the other resting on her stomach. Beside her, her white lab coat and olive drab sweater were folded on the floor. On top of the pile were her glasses. Her boots sat beside them. She wore only her black trousers and an olive drab tank top. Her dark hair was like a mane around her head. 

For a moment, he considered stealthily walking out. But Jasmine proved to be a light sleeper because her eyelids fluttered open. When she saw Frost standing there, she gasped a little.

“Sergeant!”

“Uh, I’m sorry Lieutenant Commander, I didn’t think you were in,” he replied hastily. Jasmine sat up and checked her watch. 

“Oh no,” she groaned. “I just wanted to rest my eyes for ten minutes. I’ve been sleeping for nearly forty-five minutes. I’m running behind.” She swung her legs out and looked at her clothes. Then, she gazed at Frost. For a moment, she blinked and then her cheeks blushed. A nervous chuckle passed her lips as she rubbed her bare shoulders. “Not the most appropriate way for an officer to dress around an enlisted man,” she said. 

“No, ma’am,” Frost said, then winced. “I mean, it’s not a problem with me, ma’am. You can dress however you want around me.” It was the wrong thing to say and he just shook his head. “Apologies, ma’am. I can come back later.”

Jasmine, still blushing, giggled nervously. 

“Not a problem, Sergeant. I can spare a little time right now.” He didn’t quite believe her but found he couldn’t decline. Politely, he turned his back and allowed Jasmine to don her sweater, coat, glasses, and boots. When she finished, she sat down at her desk and assumed a professional demeanor. Frost sat down across from her. “Is everything alright? You seem tired. If this is a medical issue, though, I recommend you see one of our on-call physicians.”

“I was just hoping to talk for a moment,” Frost admitted. 

“By all means,” Jasmine briefly glanced at her terminal. “I’d rather talk than do this.”

“So, Doctor...”

“Just Jasmine, thank you.”

“Right, okay. Jasmine. You’re pals with the Captain?”

Jasmine didn’t seem perturbed by the personal question. She flashed a handsome smile and nodded.

“Yes,” she said with a sort of chuckle, “Captain Waters and I went to Luna OCS together. I’m a bit older but I went there after medical school to get my commission. She was around seventeen, eighteen years old, and after a rocky first day we became friends.”

“Close friends?”

“The best of friends,” Jasmine said.

“So you know her inside and out?”

“Of course, I’m her doctor, too.”

Frost’s lips twitched into a smile. Jasmine blushed just a little bit and shrugged. “Just a little attempt at humor. I’m working on it.”

“Yes, ma’am, er,  _ Jasmine _ .” Frost opened his mouth to speak but his voice faltered. He thought carefully about his next question. Jasmine studied him, clearly intrigued. He cleared his throat. “I understand she lost some people close to her a long time ago.”

Jasmine’s expression became grave. She nodded slowly.

“Yes, her friends were unfortunately killed during a UNSC operation. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I sort of heard about it. Did she ever get diagnosed with something? PTSD? Anger-issues? Paranoia? Anything like that? Well, I guess you couldn’t tell me. We’d be breaching a clause or something, right?”

“Why are you asking me?” Jasmine asked, her tone becoming intense. 

“Well, I just...”

“What has Vivian done?”

Frost blinked, finding the doctor suddenly intimidating. Slowly, Jasmine rose to her feet and gripped the edge of the metal desk so hard he thought it would actually bend. She seemed to grow into a giant at that moment and her hair stood on end. Behind her glasses, her radiant eyes became impenetrably dark. “What has she done?” she seethed. 

Frost was defenseless.

* * *

Jasmine had marched down the halls of the ship with her hands balled into fists. Her white lab coat flew behind her. Her eyes were angry and narrow behind her glasses and her clenched teeth were slightly bared. Marines and seamen stepped aside when they saw her coming, some not breaking stride, others stopping, apparently stupefied to see their kindly doctor appearing furious. A few even seemed to pick up the pace, nervous at her sight.

Reaching an elevator, she stepped in and closed it before anyone else could get in. It took far too long for Jasmine’s liking.

“Decatur!” she said aloud.

“Yes, Doctor?” came the AI’s posh reply from an intercom.

“Do you have it in your power to make the lifts go faster?”

“Not without causing you harm, ma’am.”

“Figures,” Jasmine spat. So she endured the elevator rides throughout the  _ I’m Alone _ until she reached the small deck reserved for high-ranking officers. Jasmine pounded down the hall until she reached Vivian’s cabin. Her friend had given her the codes, which was against regulations, but such rules didn’t apply to best friends in Vivian and Jasmine’s minds. She punched the numeric code into the keypad and then marched in. Vivian was not at her desk. Jasmine opened the private cabin door and burst in. Her friend was just walking across the room wearing nothing but a black tank top and olive drab underwear. A steaming coffee mug was in her hand and a data pad in the other.

Vivian recoiled and barely kept her coffee from spilling.

“Fuck!” she cried. “Jasmine, what the hell!?”

“You—” Jasmine looked over her shoulder, closed the door, and then whirled around. “— _ idiot! _ You pulled a gun on him!? Are you insane!?”

Vivian looked like a deer caught in the headlights, her emerald eyes wide with shock and confusion. They changed, becoming angry.

“Who told you?”

“Frost, of course!”

“He agreed not to tell anybody!”

“Oh, so you weren’t going to tell me? Your best friend?”

“Jas, a lot happened really fast, Frost said something that set me off, Hayes showed up and had some kind of kangaroo court, and I’m still trying to understand what happened and—”

“You _attacked_ another service member!”  
“Jas, please, can I put some pants on before we do this?”

“No!” Jasmine spat. “We’re talking about this  _ right now! _ ”

Jasmine surged over and seized Vivian by the shoulders. It took all of her restraint not to shake and jostle her around. “Vivian Waters, you are a  _ Captain  _ of the  _ UNSC Navy!  _ You are responsible for five ships and all the souls on board! We have a war to fight for our existence as a species! We have a mission almost no other task force has had in  _ years _ ! And you pulled a gun on a fellow service member! Are you insane!?”

The shouting match commenced, made all the more venomous by their close friendship. Jasmine cited how she forewent therapy and psychoanalysis for years, and that something like this was inevitable. Vivian countered she was in full capacity of her emotion until Frost showed up, shunting the blame on him for her outburst. But Jasmine claimed that was no excuse and that she could have restrained herself from doing something not only foolish but illegal. Every time Vivian tried to launch into a lecture about the old laws of revenge and justice, Jasmine shut her down, claiming they had no basis in a modern, 26 th Century society. When she tried to talk UNSC military law, Jasmine, who was well-versed in it as well, poked holes in her reasoning. It all came back to her friends collaborating with a multi-cell terror organization, being armed, and refusing to surrender. As logical as it was, none of it seemed to ring with Vivian. 

It didn’t stop until Jasmine put her foot down. “There is no justification for murder! If you went through with it, you’d become the very thing you think Frost is! You’d be more of a murderer than he is!”

Vivian backed down from that. They were both red in the face and huffing as if they just finished a marathon. Suddenly, tears glimmered in Vivian’s eyes. She no longer looked like a UNSC Navy officer. Out of uniform, no one would have guessed she was commanding one of the Navy’s fiercest battlewagons in history. She had a small, heart-shaped face, with smooth cheeks that possessed a natural pink hue. Her lips were not plump but they were by no means thin either. Her’s was an athletic body, slender but toned and in possession of raw strength from the tips of her fingers to her toes. She was one of the most beautiful women Jasmine had ever met, with her freckled cheeks and glowing emerald eyes. Whenever they went into some communal area at Luna OCS or some dodgy dive while off-campus, Jasmine felt her own appearance pale to that of the half-Irish, half-Macedonian beside her who walked with the air of a warrior queen. One might have supposed she was a scholar-competitor, someone versed in the literary arts but just as ready to engage in any sport there was. How surprised they would be to find her to be commanding Navy ships. 

More than that, she was accomplished despite her brief career. She was a star pupil in OCS, had attended multiple training schools post graduation, received the Navy and Marine Corps Medal for saving a fellow trainee’s life, worked with distinction within the Home Fleet, received the Silver Star for rescuing a massive UNSC ground force, and earned command of a battlegroup composed of powerful ships. It was a meteoric rise some officers only dreamed of and Vivian earned every bit of it. She was flexible as a leader, Jasmine knew that before anyone else. Daring, aggressive, logical, but compassionate, making time for any member of her crew and would not place them in unnecessary danger. 

Such feats made seeing her, small, dejected, crying on the edge of her bed, was incredibly jarring to Jasmine. She was so used to Vivian the officer that she forgot that her friend was in possession of tender feelings complicated by a trauma she never recovered from. All the fire in Jasmine’s heart was doused as she stood over Vivian, crying into her palm and clutching the coffee mug with her other, trembling grasp. 

“They were my friends,” Vivian said after a few minutes. “I grew up with them. They were closer to me than my own brother and sister. No one gave me the time of day, but  _ they  _ did. We cared about each other. We looked out for each other. I loved them. And he...that  _ monster _ ...ripped them out of my life.” Her lips quivered and she shook her head. More tears flowed down her freckled cheeks. “They didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“Nobody does,” Jasmine sighed. She sat beside Vivian. 

“I could have done something. Made him stop, distracted him, or maybe if I said yes we would have left before the UNSC came.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Viv. You made the right decision, because if you joined them, you’d be gone too.”

“Nothing about it feels right,” Vivian replied, her tone acidic. “Five girls who never did anything wrong besides make one dumb mistake died in a hail of bullets. Doesn’t that just feel wrong to you?”

Vivian opposed the Insurrection, especially in an age of war like this. But hers opposition was not based out of fanatical devotion to the UNSC or a personal grudge against them. It was a matter of principles; she was willing to put her life on the line and aid the war effort for humanity’s survival. These people were not willing to do that, and instead stole and intimidated whatever they needed to survive, looking out for themselves rather than the whole. The selfishness in their plight was grossly offensive to all Jasmine’s moral sensibilities. An empathetic person at heart, beset by a condition that made her feel others’ pain, she felt none for the Insurrectionists. But it was difficult to look at Vivian’s situation and see pass the traitorous affiliations her friends developed. Running off to become a rebel? That was romance and adventure in that prospect; she imagined many teengers would have leaped at an opportunity. Idealism might have been the justification, but young people’s emotions were different, raw, undeveloped. Furthermore, their owners didn’t know what to do with all these feelings. Mistakes defined youth but theirs cost them their lives. 

“Vivian, you have to understand their decision led to that end. Frost wasn’t some anomaly, he was a Marine engaging what has been labeled an enemy combatant. The logic is cold and doesn’t make it better. But you have to explore every route, Viv, so you can let go. I’m a broken record but it won’t be easy, it won’t be rewarding, it’ll take work, time, effort, and you’ll have to work out some bad demons. But you need to forgive yourself, and you need to forgive, or at least forget about Frost. There are bigger things at stake.”

Vivian looked at her, her emerald eyes wide and childlike. Jasmine smiled a little. “You’re in the Navy, now. These ships and their crews need you. Guidance, inspiration, confidence: leadership. That’s what we need from you. If we don’t get them, we won’t just fail, we’ll all die.”

“But Frost—”

“Frost is a Marine. He’s a very good Marine. We need someone like him just as much as we need you. And we all need you, Vivian.”

“I can’t just walk away from it all,” Vivian sniffed.

“Try. You have to try.”


	26. Invincible

A few days later, the  _ Best of the Best’s  _ retrofits and experimental upgrades, mirroring the installations to the  _ I’m Alone _ , were complete. After extensive testing, Vivian was confident the destroyer would perform well under combat conditions. She ordered the battlegroup to enter slipspace; they already had a new mission. Ships from the ONI Prowler Corps relayed information regarding the Covenant’s movement. Many ships were moving to reinforce multiple sieges throughout the diminishing Outer Colonies. Neighboring systems, characterized by worlds that were not colonized or already glasses, were filling up with Covenant forces. 

An Outer Colonies breadbasket, Edwards VI, was suffering from a Covenant siege fleet that managed to penetrate through the UNSC Navy’s screen. Mostly agrarian with limited infrastructure, the underdeveloped colony was not heavily militarized and the limited Army garrison was calling for reinforcements. Vivian was making that her battlegroup’s first priority. 

After organizing a skeleton crew, Vivian ordered the remainder of the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ crew into cryo-sleep. Some of the normal bridge officers and some of the engineering elements made up the majority of those who would endure the slipspace journey. Vivian, sitting at her station, knew a few individuals would still be awake regardless of orders. Jasmine was an obvious one; she was staying out of her pod to finish synthesizing the data collected from the physical evaluations from the crew and the rest of the fleet. She had been putting her own off for weeks and with the ship in control of the skeleton crew, decided it was as good a time as any to finally complete her evaluation. 

“Solak, you’ve got the bridge.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“XO Solak has the bridge,” Decatur said, saluting from the AI pedestal. 

After a brief elevator trip to Zero Deck and a cursory tour throughout the ships main facilities, Vivian trundled towards the infirmary. It was still a strange experience to wander through the  _ I’m Alone  _ when she was devoid of life. Hands folded behind her back, head hung long, Vivian wracked her brain. In the upcoming battle and in the battles to come, how many would live or die by her commands? Did she have the stomach, the grit, the heart to deal with the catastrophic losses listed on the UNSC battle boards? If she couldn’t overcome the deaths of five friends in her youth how could she possibly reconcile the deaths of thousands of her personnel? Perhaps numerical rationale would save her: one thousand lives spent in order to keep a million more. The gruesome arithmetic of war did not suit her heart no matter how necessary it was. 

Try as she might, she couldn’t reduce the lives of the men and women on her ships to numbers. Their lives would take a toll just like the loss of her friends, no matter their flaws and faults. Her friends wanted to live in a world of their own making even if that meant defecting to the enemy. But they were respectful, intelligent, productive, innocent,  _ good _ people who loved one another and their families. What was Frost? A Marine, through and through, a warrior who believed in the traditions and the cause. He did not need to make a world like them; his was already designed for him. It was his duty to engage in ground level warfare with the enemy and obey the rigor of military life. If anyone fit into it well, it was him. Other people who volunteered for a timed contract or were drafted would probably identify themselves with their previous occupation. A truck driver who was drafted would still be a truck driver. A mother of six would still see herself as a mother of six. The uniforms didn’t change anything. But Frost veiled himself in the Corps and was, through and through, a Marine. A killer.

She was a killer, too. Her battlefield were the dark reaches of space and she would end tens-of-thousands of Covenant lives. He was a Marine and she was a UNSC Navy officer, but they were both soldiers of humanity. Defending their species and killing the enemy bound them together. That common ground changed nothing, though. Vivian would kill because she had to. Frost killed because he wished to. She would not forget that. But she would not forget her duty; keeping her crew alive and defeating the enemy were her first priorities. Frost would be made to pay in due time. Walking like a ghost through the  _ I’m Alone’s _ , Vivian resolved to wait for the right time to act.

***

“Scans complete, Captain. Six Covenant ships in total; one  _ CCS _ -class battlecruiser, two  _ CPV _ -class destroyers, and three  _ SDV _ -class corvettes,” Tsang read off the data from his station in an excited but otherwise controlled tone. 

“Six to five, they’ve got numbers and the tonnage,” Bassot replied. He looked over his shoulder and grinned. “I think we have this one in the bag, Captain.”

“Koroma, open FLEETCOM 7. All ships, this is  _ I’m Alone _ . Begin charging MACs and pre Archer Missile Pods. Numbers are at your discretion. Standby for formation coordinates.”

Vivian’s fingers danced across her terminal. On the screen was an overhead view of her ships in relation to the Covenant battlegroup. The alien ships, which were bombarding the planet, were turning to face them. Seeing they had an advantage in numbers, they began to assemble into a line formation. Vivian decided to meet them head on with her heavier ships;  _ I’m Alone _ ,  _ Best of the Best _ , and  _ Batavia _ would assemble into a wedge formation with the former ship in the lead. The frigates,  _ Lion’s Den  _ and  _ Determined Guardian,  _ would run parallel to each other above the heavier ships. She kept both formations loose; her strategy relied on the UNSC ships having plenty of room to maneuver. “Decatur, scan and send optimal firing vectors to the other ships.”

“Aye, Captain.”

One by one, the ships acknowledged they received the firing coordinates. On the starboard side tactical screen, Vivian observed the readouts for the MAC charges. Most of the weapons were nearly sixty percent. She switched back to FLEETCOM 7. “All ships,  _ I’m Alone _ . Hold your fire and wait for my command. After your first shots, divert as much power possible to recharge the guns. Hold off on Archer Missiles until I give you the go ahead.  _ Determined Guardian _ ,  _ Lion’s Den _ , hold fire on all until I give you a separate command to fire. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Roger.”

She observed the screen. Both frigates were now directly above the three heavier ships arrayed in a loose triangle. The Covenant ships were streaming towards them steadily, their long, sleek, purple hulls bearing a menacing appearance in the darkness of space. Behind them, fires raged on the planet. Little dots began appearing around their hulls. Vivian ordered Decatur to pull up the bow cameras and zoom in. Her terminal screen transitioned to a live feed and saw hundreds of dropships and orbital fights flooding out from the  _ CSS _ -class battlecruiser’s hull. 

“Solak, send word to Major Holst. I want his entire battalion ready to drop. Tell Colonel Hayes I want the 89 th ready for planetfall as well.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Ngouabi, scramble all available interceptors. Those bastards are going to try and hit us early. Contact  _ Batavia _ and order them to launch their fighters, too.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

“All ships,  _ I’m Alone _ . Reduce speed, slow ahead. I want the Covenant to come at us.” 

A few tense minutes passed. Vivian felt beads of sweat trickling down her temple. She glanced at the tactical display. One by one, the bars beside each projection of the ships in her battlegroup filled up. The rising percentages struck one hundred. Every ship reported they were prepared to fire. Ahead, the Covenant ships closed in. All three corvettes broke off from the line formation and began rising in elevation, no doubt to meet the frigates. On the bridge, the officers monitored their data and stations, but every so often a head would rise to gaze upon the Covenant ships. The veterans appeared very calm while the fresher officers tended to gaze a little longer at the ships. Each face glistened with sweat. Everybody worked diligently; there were no ragged breaths, no prayers, no voices of concern. At that moment, Vivian was very proud of the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ bridge crew. If only she could see the entire crew’s stoic professionalism in the face of such adversity! 

“One minute until we’re in range,” Bassot reported. Vivian could now make out the finer designs of the Covenant ships. Bulbous amidships, fat sterns, elongated trim bows, bearing the appearance of deep-sea squid and other creatures that dared not come to the surface. Across their hulls, she began to see the white-purple flare of plasma cannons. In front of them, little puffs appeared. Trails of blue plasma bolts mingled with yellow cannon shells. Not expecting a quick fighter defense, the Covenant star fighters were being blown to pieces by the experienced, well-trained, disciplined Longsword warriors. When a Seraph or Banshee exploded, there usually wasn’t a gout of flame. Instead, they merely obliterated into a cloud of metallic dust. Little puffs began appearing more and more.

The seconds ticked by as if they were hours. She watched the timer countdown; fifteen seconds, ten seconds, five, then double zeroes. Vivian found herself standing and she swept her arm towards the Covenant ships. 

“Fire!” 

The  _ I’m Alone  _ shuddered. A golden streak flew from her bow towards the Covenant ships. On either side was another golden streak.  _ I’m Alone  _ and  _ Batavia  _ fired their second guns while  _ Best of the Best’s  _ new upgrades allowed her MAC gun to fire a second time. This shot was directed instead at the enemy destroyer ahead of it. The one round made the blue shield glow brightly. Vivian’s ship’s first two rounds struck the battlecruisers. The blue shields of the ships flickered as the two, fiery impacts washed over the bow.  _ Best of the Best’s  _ MAC round delivered the final blow against the battlecruiser’s shields. It flickered vibrantly and then winked away.  _ Batavia,  _ to  _ I’m Alone’s  _ starboard, fired her rounds at the corresponding Covenant destroy. Both heavy rounds slammed against its shields. 

Sosa corrected the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ course slightly, aiming it at the destroyer on the battlecruiser’s starboard side. Bassot fired the next two rounds and began charging the MAC guns. Vivian began diverting power from non-essential systems to the guns. Already, the bars were beginning to fill. Meanwhile, the two rounds hit the destroyer’s shields. They flickered and died. Two of their heavier ships now had no shields.  _ Batavia  _ fired again and eliminated the second destroyer’s shields with one MAC round while the other slammed into its bow. Like a bullet going wild in the human body, the MAC rounds penetrative power saw it travel through the length of the destroyer and then detonate upon hitting an engine. A larger plasma explosion billowed out on the destroyer’s starboard side. Cheers ran up. “We’re not through with this fight yet!” She flipped the channel to FLEETCOM 7. “ _ Batavia _ ,  _ Best of the Best _ , begin recharging your guns.” It was a moot command; looking over at the screen she saw they were very much ahead of her. “ _ Lion’s Den _ ,  _ Determined Guardian _ , fire!”

_ Lion’s Den _ , on the port side, fired at the undamaged destroyer. Firing at a downward angle, the round struck the top of the ship amidships and smashed into the hull. Vivian watched a cloud of debris rocket out through the keel followed by a plasma explosion.  _ Determined Guardian _ fired at the battlecruiser. Her MAC round struck one of the massive ship’s port-side plasma batteries. The weapons exploded and then a series of secondary explosions began igniting throughout the hull. 

Vivian’s hands twitched and she grinned. Already, their three largest ships were without shields and sustained heavy damage from well-placed MAC rounds. Above them, the corvettes remained untouched. Their weapons flared, then fired. The Captain’s grin widened; it was just what she was expecting. She sat down and sent the battlegroup new coordinates.  _ Best of the Best  _ swept to port and  _ Batavia  _ to starboard.  _ Lion’s Den  _ and  _ Determined Guardian  _ respectfully assumed their positions, dodging the fusilade of plasma just in time. 

New coordinates were dispatched.  _ I’m Alone _ ,  _ Batavia _ , and  _ Best of the Best  _ ascended to the frigates’ original plane and were now facing down the corvettes. The light Covenant ships, having expended their first volley, were helpless in front of the heavier UNSC ships’ recharged weapons. Vectors were dispatched and the ships fired. The first volley wiped out the smaller ships’ shields and the second volley tore into their hull. One of  _ I’m Alone’s  _ MAC rounds detonated where the bridge and amidships of the lead corvette met. A massive explosion blew the bow off from the rest of the ship while the rest of the vessel began to break up.  _ Best of the Best _ scored a hit on a corvette’s engines and they exploded. The small vessel’s entire stern was engulfed in fire and began to drift downwards.  _ Batavia’s  _ rounds struck with such ferocity that secondary explosions rippled through the third corvette and soon it began to break up.

“Captain, remaining Covenant ships are preparing to fire.”

“Good.”

Again, Vivian expected the Covenant to rely on their superior armaments to carry them through the battle. She gave them targets worth waiting for; the two frigates would be obliterated in their volley. Below,  _ Lion’s Den  _ and  _ Determined Guardian  _ were a barreling towards the Covenant ships. The heavier enemy vessels had reduced their speed to finish charging their weapons. 

Her hands raced across her keyboard. New coordinates were dispatched. “Sosa, adjust elevation: take us down, right on top of them!”

Below, the  _ Paris _ -class heavy frigates fired. Their MAC rounds both struck the battlecruiser right on the prow. Traveling through somewhat, fissures appeared across the bow and fires began to break out. As the  _ I’m Alone _ ,  _ Best of the Best _ , and  _ Batavia  _ pointed themselves downwards towards the enemy line, the frigates ascended. Through the bridge glass, she watched the frigates pass on either side of the  _ I’m Alone _ . Below, the damaged Covenant ships sluggish turned upwards to try and fire. It was too late. “Archer Missile Pods one through four, fire!”

All three heavy ships unleashed a barrage of missiles. While some were cut down by the Covenant ships’ point defense systems, they were too many and were too close. Orange explosions appeared all across the three ships’ purple hulls. More cracks began to appear, secondary explosions rocketed out, engines blew up, sections of the ships began to break up. It was time for the death blow; as the  _ I’m Alone  _ and her fellow ships passed the Covenant vessels, they unleashed their defensive guns at point blank range. The enemy battlecruiser was so close Vivian thought she could reach through the glass and touch it. 

The enemy ships disappeared from sight. “Decatur, aft cameras please.” Her screen transitioned again. Behind her, she watched the two destroyers and the battlecruiser explode and break into hundreds of pieces. She smiled. “Decatur, put that up on the screen.”

The port side tactical display began showing the scene. Everyone turned, stared in disbelief for a few moments, and then gave a great cheer. 

“Six covenant ships destroyed!” Bassot cheered. 

“I can’t believe it!” Delaney, normally reserved, yelled. 

“Let's hear it for Captain Waters!” Koroma called. Everyone threw up their fists and shouted, ‘Waters! Waters! Waters!’ Vivian enjoyed it only for a moment and then held up her hands. 

“Back to your stations everyone. Ngouabi, update on our interceptors.”

“Mopping up.”

“Good. Once they’re finished, recall them, rearm, refuel, and then get them planetside. Tsang, start coordinating with ground forces. Koroma, patch us into GROUNDNET and get me on the horn with the Army commander. Solak, draft coordinates; once we deploy our ground forces I want our ships to create a cordon around the planet. I don’t want any Covenant reinforcements getting the drop on us. Delaney, start feeding intel about this planet’s ground to my station. Geography, topography, weather patterns, friendly and enemy troop concentrations, potential deployment zones; if it’s worth reviewing, send it.”

“Ma’am, you’re in GROUNDNET,” Koroma reported. 

Vivian switched channels. 

“This Captain Waters of the UNSC  _ I’m Alone  _ here to assist. Over.”

“Colonel Lily Amsterdam, 2 nd Brigade Combat Team, 377 th Infantry Division. We’re sure glad the Navy’s here.”

The officer said fatigued but her tone was relieved. Vivian smiled. 

“Can you give us a sitrep, Colonel?”

“2 nd BCT is holding at Apache City. We’ve gathered every survivor from other units here and our total strength is at about 3,300 troops. Heavy civilian casualties. But the Covenant are currently retreating.”

Vivian was not surprised. Having just lost their entire fleet, the Covenant forces already stationed on the planet were now left to fend for their own. A wise commander would withdraw their forces, regroup, fortify, and then resume combat operations once they’ve consolidated. Her terminal screen began processing new data being passed from the field headquarters on the planet. Decatur corroborated this information with orbital scans and photographs taken by Delaney’s ONI Sec-One team. “This is the Covenant deployment area. It’s about three clicks outside the city climits on a hilly ridge line at the edge of the flatlands. The survivors from orbit are landing there now and once they’ve added their weight to the troops already down here, they’re going to make a push. It’s the perfect time for a counterattack.”

A sound strategy. The Covenant would be deploying their forces and thus would not be able to mount a full defense. Units would not be fully formed, organization would be frenzied. If they could overrun their deployment area, they could very well put down the invasion in a few hours. 

“Agreed, Colonel.”

“Problem is, we’ve got several AA batteries keeping our UH-144’s from providing support. With air assets, this is going to be a costly op.”

“We’ll take care of the guns from orbit. Once they’re destroyed, my Marines will deploy. Coordinate with Colonel Hayes regarding the attack. The ODSTs will deploy once the assault begins.” 

“Very good, Captain.”

Vivian closed the communication link. 

“Alright, keep monitoring your stations, carry out your tasks. This is a Marine-Army show now.”

As everyone began working, Vivian dug into her pocket. Before the engagement, she had been in her cabin. When she left, she dug her fingers into the box of Sweet William Cigars Travers gifted her. She took one with her and now gazed at it. A part of her wanted to light it and began smoking at that moment. Instead, she ran it under her nose and, true to its name, found that it was indeed sweet. But victory was incomplete and she put it back into her pocket. 

* * *

Frost stood beside the passenger side of a Warthog and observed the lights of the Covenant base. White, pink, purple, and red lights illuminated their massive deployment area. The destroyed AA guns were smoldering pillars of plasma fire, their glow piercing the night’s velvet darkness. In the distance, exposed Covenant forces that were not able to make it back to base in time were being harrassed by Army Aviation UH-144’s and B-65’s from the Air Force component of the planetary garrison. 

He lowered the cigarette from his mouth. The Covenant were well-entrenched with multiple lines of defense, barricades, gun positions, and elevated positions to provide cover fire. As well, their position on the ridge gave them a commanding view of the landscape. Any attack would be seen from a mile away. Stealth was no longer a factor in the build up of the upcoming assault. Marines wore headlamps and walked with their flashlight attachments on. Men smoked and talked loudly. In the Warthog’s driver seat, Steele covered his seat with mesh netting as he examined one of his sniper rifle magazines. His blonde locks peeked out from underneath his helmet. 

Frost got into the Warthog’s passenger seat. 

“Need a hand?”

“Don’t need your sodding help,” Steele muttered. He then groaned. “Why do I have to drive?”

“Because you have the best scores.”

“I’m a  _ sniper _ .”

“So you’ll drive until it’s time to snipe. Don’t whine, you’re a fucking Marine,” Frost said, leaning back in his seat. Grant came over and stuck his head into the cab. 

“Frost, both other trucks are ready to go. Fueled, stocked with ammo.”

Their squad would be operating three Warthogs. Moser, Lanely, and Grant would occupy one, with the latter operating the gun. Bishop, Knight, and Maddox would be in the second and Maddox would be their gunner. Steele and Frost were on the third vehicle and Frost would transition to the M41. 

“Good. Get into your Hog and wait for orders.”

Grant nodded confidently and disappeared into the dark. Frost looked over at Steele who scoffed.

“Fucking bullocks. A frontal assault? Doesn’t matter how much air they give us.”

Hayes and Amsterdam decided a full front assault on the enemy position was the best way to attack. The ridges made it difficult for any elegant maneuvers. Two forces, one made up of the Marines and the other of the 2 nd BCT, would attack on opposite sides of the ridge. Warthogs and Scorpions would spreadhead the attack and secure the ground leading up to the enemy perimeter. Behind them would be the bulk of their infantry. Army Aviation UH-144’s would support the Army advance while the 89 th ’s Hornets would cover them. Longsword interceptors from the battlegroup and B65 Shortswords from the base in the city would already soften up targets. Kodiak self-propelled artillery would hammer the interior of the enemy base. 

Nobody liked to hear the word ‘front assault.’ Frost, however, saw the strategic options available and was not opposed to it. Steele, of course, liked to winge. “Can’t they just nuke the fucker from orbit?”

“Because if the Navy nuked everything from orbit, Marines would live very boring lives.”

“I’ll take boring any day, bruv.”

“Net call, net call.” Colonel Hayes’ voice flooded into his helmet earpiece. Frost put a hand to his helmet as he listened. “Commence operations.”

Frost flicked his cigarette out, shoulders his MA5B, and climbed into the rear of the truck. He checked the M41, strapped himself into the gun, and then grabbed the controls. 

“Alright, Steele. Hit it!”

The sniper revved up the engine. All around them, the white headlights of hundreds upon hundred of Warthogs and Scorpions turned on. In one motion, the trucks sped forward and tore across the flatlands leading to the ridge. Roaring engines filled the air. Overhead, B65’s flew over the Covenant positions and carpet bombed them. White flashes threw up huge columns of dark earth all over the ridges. GA-TL1’s followed, peppering exposed Covenant targets with cannons and missiles. Finally, the Hornets swarmed towards the Covenant. Looking up, Frost saw the booted feet of the Marines on either side of the VTOLs, toting rocket launchers. Ahead, Army UH144’s already danced over the enemy lines. Blue, green, red, and purple plasma thundered upwards. Nimbly, the UH144’s dodged the streams of plasma. Fat green bolts from fuel rod guns flew upwards. More than a few of the birds were struck and exploded. But on they came, their door gunners lacing the enemy positions with bullets and grenades. Hornets joined the fray, their missiles bombarding Shade turrets and blasting barricades apart. 

Wind whistled through the cab of the Warthog and stung Frost’s cheeks. Dust billowed out on either side of the trucks and he felt bits of dirt strike his cheeks. The ridge and its first lines of dense appears. Everything began to take shape; anti-gravity towers, pronged barricades, supply crates, energy cells, methane tanks, stockpiles, and Shade turrets. Brightly colored plasma erupted and began spraying the charging Warthogs. Behind them, the Scorpions opened fire and huge gouts of earth and flame appeared across the Covenant lines. Gunners began firing, their white and red tracers filling up the night. Frost fired in short, controlled bursts, focusing on the flashes of plasma at different parts of the line. 

The elevation changed and the Warthogs began driving uphill. Churning up the ground, they unleashed their guns on the enemy lines. Swathes of Covenant infantry, outside of their defenses, were killed. Plasma grenades began detonating and fuel rod cannons destroyed multiple Warthogs. After a particularly close call, the hot plasma air made Frost duck. When he looked up through the dust, he saw a Covenant barricade dead ahead.

“Shit!” Steele yelled, spotting it at the same time. He slammed on the brakes but it was too late. The front of the Warthog smashed into the purple barricade. Frost was thrown over the gun and the impact was sharp even through his chestplate. As he recovered, other Warthogs raced over the Covenant lines while others were destroyed or came to a stop. Moser and Bishop’s Hogs pulled up next to hise. 

“The truck’s immobilized, let’s move in on foot!” Frost shouted. They dismounted and vaulted over the barricade. Joining throngs of Marines, they charged from cover to cover. The interior Covenant lines were in complete disarray. Barricades were blown up, destroyed turrets and vehicles were everywhere. Dead bodies littered the ground. Formations of Warthogs fish-tailed and weaved around, scattering the enemy infantry. Shade turrets attempted to fire at them but the Warthogs outpaced their slow turn speed. Overhead, Hornet pilots zeroed in on the muzzle flashes of the turrets and obliterated them with rockets. Stalwart groups of Covenant, led by fierce Elites, charged into the Marines. While some were successful in killing a few, the combined arms of so many aircraft, tanks, trucks, and infantry were too much. Before long, the Covenant were falling back, deeper and deeper into their sanctuary. 

From an elevated position, a Grunt rocked away on a plasma turret. Frost peeked around the corner of a destroyed Wraith but was instantly forced back by the automatic fire. He tapped Steele and motioned to the other end of the tank. The sniper crawled over and took aim. Again, Frost exposed himself, forcing the Grunt to turn the weapon. Steele immediately fired, taking the Grunt’s head off with a single round. 

“Did you fucking  _ see  _ that!?” Steele laughed. 

“Revenant, Revenant!” someone shouted. The small Covenant craft hovered over the ground and fired immediately. One blast struck a Warthog, blowing up its engine and engulfing the occupants in fire. It fired again and an entire squad of Marines were killed. Frost pushed Knight to the front. The Marine team leader raised his rocket launcher. 

“Back blast clear! Fire!” Frost shouted. Knight fired both rockets. They whizzed towards the Revenant and stuck it center mass. The artillery platform exploded in plasma flames. Some engineers ran forward, planted charges on a line of barricades, and blew it up. When the dust settled, there was a massive breach in the Covenant interior lines. Warthogs and Scorpions surged through, followed by charging Marines. As they ran, pink needles shot by Frost’s head. Several Marines were wounded and cried out as they clutched their wounds. 

The squad looked around and saw two Skirmishers duck behind an overturned supply crate. Unable to get a shot, Frost grimaced and drew his knife. He sprinted towards them, vaulted over the crate, and immediately landed on one of them. He slashed the thrasing alien’s throat open and then ducked under the attempt of the second to hit him with the buff of his rifle. Frost tackled it to the ground, smashed its beak in, but was thrown off. Despite having its face pulverized, the Skirmisher continued to fight. It tried to jump on him but he kicked it off. Grappling with it, he forced it onto its side, turned his knife around, and plunged it into the alien’s chest. In a few moments, it went limp. 

Behind him was a roar. An Elite Major raised a plasma rifle to bring it down on his head. Just then, the barrel of an M90 appeared in its side. The owner squeezed the trigger and the blast knocked the Elite over. Gurgling and clutching its blown out midsection, the Elite tried to reach for its sword. Bishop walked over the crate and finished it with another slug. 

As the pair rejoined the squad and larger formations of Marines, they plunged further into the base. Like ocean waves, the Marines flowed over the meager Covenant defenses. They disappeared in the shadows and then reappeared in the Covenant lights. Frost was swept up in the attack until he saw some Marines underneath a high elevation position. Multiple turrets were thundering away in different directions. 

“Grenades! We need more grenades!” the Marines called.

“Come on, First Squad, let’s help’em out!” Frost cried. He rallied his Marines with the pinned down troopers. Everyone with a grenade pulled the pin, primed it, and lobbed on top of the flat Covenant position. Just as they duck, the grenades exploded in an orchestra of dull explosions. Roaring, the Marines clambered over the top. Most of the turrets were destroyed and there were a few wounded Grunts and Elites. All were swiftly executed and the charge continued. 

He knew they were getting very close to the Covenant bastion. Resistance was becoming stiffer and the Covenant numbers were higher. Even as Longswords, Hornets, and UH-144’s knocked Phantom dropships out of the sky, the Covenant troops were congregating on gigantic, metallic, purple landing pad used for Covenant grav lifts to their support vessels. Barricades and supply crates were piled all over, forming makeshift bunkers for their heavy guns. Wraiths, Ghosts, Revenants, and Shades were all around it. 

Just when it seemed like the Marines would break against the defenses and suffer heavy casualties, there was a rumble of tank engines. On the opposite side of the enemy position, the ocean of Army infantry parted as dozens upon dozens of Scorpions attacked the position. Infantrymen riding on the flanks of the massive vehicles spilled off, throwing themselves onto the Covenant with bayonets fixed. Standing on the leading tank was Colonel Amsterdam who wasn’t wearing her helmet. Her auburn hair fell around her neck like a lion’s mane and her face was contorted with rage. She hollered indistinguishably, ushering her troops onwards before grabbing an MA37 and joining them. Amsterdam and four other infantrymen tackled an Elite minor, forced into the ground, and then cut it to pieces with their combat knives. 

The enemy vehicles and emplacements were knocked out one by one. None of them could turn quickly enough to defend themselves. Tightening like a noose, the Army Scorpions circled around the Covenant bastion. Some of the Marine Warthogs pulled right onto the steps of the landing pad and the gunners fired point blank into the enemy troops. 

Frost was working his way towards the pad when an Elite general appeared. Its golden fringed armor glowed in the waning light. In his hands it carried a Type-52 plasma turret. Screaming, it held it at waist-level and mowed down an entire squad of Marines, knocking them off the steps as if it were brushing away flies. Steele immediately took a knee and squeezed off several rounds. Despite the heavy caliber and high velocity of the bullets, they didn’t break the general’s shields. The alien roared and then jumped back. Frost ran up after it despite cries from his squad to stop. Leaping over the barricade, he found himself on the center of the pad. Marines and Army troopers were breaking over the defenses all around. Elites, Skirmishers, Jackals, and Grunts were fighting down to the last man. Bodies littered the metal pad and blood was everywhere. Elites ripped Marines in half, infantrymen beat Jackals to death, Grunts committed suicde and took dozens with them in the grenade blasts. 

The Elite General was firing at a squad of Marines on the right flank. Frost leveled his MA5B and held down the trigger. Sixty rounds slammed into its shields. It flared but didn’t die. The Elite turned and fired at a burst. Frost darted to the side, dropping his rifle and drawing his M6C. He expended the entire magazine and the final shot eliminated the shield unit. Roaring, the Elite dropped its drained plasma turret and drew its sword. Frost drew his KA-BAR knife. Just then, Colonel Amsterdam leaped onto its back. Thrashing to shake her off, the Elite swung wildly with its sword. She held on for dear life but finally managed to draw her own combat knife and sink into its shoulder. Frost rushed forward, threw himself into the Elite, and managed to trip it. Amsterdam cried out as the heavy weight landed on her but she kept stabbing it. Frost grabbed the Elite by its throat and began gutting the beast. Before long, the Elite was dead. 

Around them were a few more scattered shots, but the fighting was dying down. Frost took a brief look around before sheathing his knife and shoving the body off. It took a lot of effort. Amsterdam released a loud breath and gladly accepted his hand. “Thanks, Colonel.”

“No altruism involved,” Amsterdam replied boastfully, “who doesn’t want to claim they saved a Marine’s ass?”

Frost chuckled. Amsterdam led him over to the western side of the landing pad and pointed out. 

“Looks like some of the Covenant managed to squeeze out. I have reports some of their air assets also broke through the cordon. Doesn’t matter though, we’ll get them. It’s a good night for hunting isn’t it, Jackthe Ripper?” The Colonel thumped Frost on the shoulder before walking away. Frost watched her leave and then chuckled a little. He gazed out at the fields of burning wreckage, the piles of Covenant corpses, the scores of dead humans, and the destroyed Covenant lines. It was almost unbelievable they made it through it alive. Overcoming his shock, he began to check on his squad. 

* * *

Data streamed across Vivian’s neural interface and the many screens hanging around the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ bridge. She was satisfied with the reports coming in. The joint Army-Marine attack overran and seized the Covenant staging area before they could formally organize a defense. The majority of Covenant forces were now eliminated. Some Phantoms with their complements of troops managed to escape as had some Covenant ground forces. Scattered holdouts were popping up as Decatur’s can and ground elements reported. It would just be a matter of rooting them out, one by one, using superior numbers and firepower. 

“Koroma, send a message to Colonel Hayes and Colonel Amsterdam. We’re going to support them with a firebase. The Covenant are broken but we need to fight smarts. Let’s minimize our casualties.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

“Add that Amsterdam needs to keep her air assets running all night. I don’t want the Covenant slipping away into dark places where we can’t find them.”

“Aye.”

“Decatur, do we have any new developments I need to be aware of?”

“A distress call was just sent from a downed Longsword, call sign Barracuda One.” Decatur pulled up the location on a tactical display. It was far removed from friendly territory and among some of the Covenant holdouts on the flatlands. Vivian knew she couldn’t divert air assets for a rescue or else the battle would become too protracted. All her Pelicans were supporting ground units, as were the Hornets and UH144’s. 

“Contact Hayes. Get a ground team to pull that pilot out of there. They don’t have long.”


	27. Blame, Pt. 1

“Two-one, Six,” came Lieutenant Conroy’s voice over the SQUADCOM. Frost was sitting in the passenger seat of the Warthog, monitoring GROUNDNET traffic wirth Maddox. The systems operator sat in the driver’s seat with the radio on his lap and the cord to the handset coiled around his right forearm. A cigarette dangled from his lips; a gust of wind caught some of the gray-white ashe and dusted his goatee with it. Frost, holding the handset, flipped the channel to respond to his platoon leader.

“Two-one rogers, send your traffic.”

“Got a downed Longsword. Assets are pretty spread out so Hayes wants you on it. Sending coordinates to your HUD and your GPS.”

A wide, blue, diamond waypoint appeared on Frost’s blue HUD piece, attached to the front of his helmet and fixated in front of his right eye. Maddox wore the UGPS pad on his left forearm and it pinged a moment later. The two Marines quickly corroborated the data. 

“Grid confirmed, over,” Frost replied warily. “Interrogative; what kind of support can we expect on this one, over?”

“Nothing on armor or artillery. Almost every element is engaged in the mopping up. Break.” Conroy didn’t speak again for almost half a minute. Both Frost and Maddox exchanged a confused glance. Their platoon leader was a very decent officer and a good man. Personally brave and with a solid understanding of tactics, he was often burdened by the overarching strategic situation which was sometimes difficult to impart onto the grunts. He wasn’t the type of officer to say ‘suck it up,’ lightly and usually explained things. No doubt, he was searching for that explanation. “Almost all combat effective elements are currently engaged. The Colonel says he can detach some Hornets and a Pelican or two as a QRF if it comes to that. You’ll have to rely on the Hogs. Over.”

“Roger. What kind of enemy resistance can we expect, over?”

There was another thirty second pause.

“Unknown at this time. Stock up on ammo, medical supplies, anything and everything you need. Then proceed to the crash site immediately and evacuate the survivors.”

“Solid copy on all. Two-one, out,” Frost said, then handed the handset back over. “Fuckin’-A, Madds. No ass, no air, no arty. Just us, a couple of trucks, and a pile of Covvies.”

“You’re acting like that’s something new, mate,” Maddox grumbled. Frost flipped his channel over to the TEAMCOM and gathered the squad up around his Warthog. He explained the mission and began rattling off orders. 

“Grant, Moser, get us ammo. Knight, Bishop, fuel up the trucks and make sure those guns are squared away. Maddox, plot a route that’ll get us there quickly  _ and  _ safely. Langley, see if you can get an extra litter and some more medical supplies, we don’t know how many survivors there are and they’re probably all wounded. Steele, scrounge some extra batteries for our nogs.”

The squad set about to their tasks quickly. Ammo canisters were dropped into the back of their vehicles, the tanks were filled, and the M41 ammo belts were locked in. The squad was again divided across their three Warthogs; Frost, Maddox, and Steele would take the first truck, Bishop, Knight, and Moser were in the second vehicle, and Moser and Langley were in the third. Everybody cycled fresh magazines into their weapons, tied first aid kits to easily accessible places on their webbing, and then sped out of the perimeter. 

It was a long drive out to the crashed Longsword. To their left were a series of bluffs, ridges, and hills. Maddox was in the passenger seat; as the squad systems operator, he was monitoring the radio as well as keeping an eye on the route. He kept relaying information to Frost, who had taken the gunner position once more. Covenant survivors and stragglers were regrouping to a secondary defensive position they hadn’t finished building yet. Amsterdam and Hayes were planning another assault but were bombarding it with all the air and artillery assets they had available. Other Covenant groups, cut off from their main line of retreat, were spreading out in other directions. Hunter-killer Army Aviation units were pursuing them. Almost every available ground and air element was engaged. 

Resisting the urge to watch the fireworks display to the left flank was very difficult. Frost, wearing a set of night vision goggles, kept watching the destruction. He couldn’t quite hear them over the roar of the engines; in a way, it reminded him of listening to thunderclaps with headphones on. The explosive quality of the burst was lost but there was a deep, resounding echo. Orange, red, and yellow glares and glows appeared white in the dull green of his night vision. It seemed like the entire bluffs were being set on fire.

The TEAMCOM lit up with Steele’s voice.

“Madds, any comms from the down bird?”

“Negative, all quiet.”

“Nate, you know we could be going out here for nothing,” Steele said, his voice emotionless.

It was a grim thought that had passed through Frost’s mind. He was under no illusions that this was probably a recovery operation rather than a rescue mission. Although he believed that no warrior should be left behind and was by no means averse to risk, he didn’t like being detached, alone, and deep in what was essentially cowboy country. Anything and everything could happen and he knew they would probably accidentally bump into retreating Covenant. A squad of Marines were deadly and with three Warthogs even more so, but without reinforcements or support, it would only be a matter of time.

Knowing the rest of the squad was likely thinking the same as Steele, however, forced Frost to react as the squad leader rather than their friend.

“We’re Marines with a mission, Lou. Doesn’t matter what we think. We just have to do it. Wilco?”

“Wilco.”

Frost’s experience as the assistant squad leader hadn’t prepared him for dropping blunt remarks like that. Discipline was important and he valued it, but it was difficult with people he considered not only his friend but his family. Luckily, the squad seemed to understand that and didn’t let those kinds of statements get to them. “How’s my heading, Madds?”

“Maintain this heading.”

Cutting across the arid landscape, Frost knew the waypoint was approaching. As they closed in on the crash site, he noticed they were drawing nearer to the hills and ridges to their left. Already, he disliked being below the high ground. “Three hundred meters,” Maddox said in a cold voice.

“Yep, I got a visual,” Steele said. Frost looked up; ahead he could make out the scorched frame of the interceptor. It was broken in half and a small fire was burning between the two pieces. Black smoke rose in a thin column. 

“Call it in, Madds,” Frost ordered.

“Six, Two-one,” Maddox said into the handset, “we have visual confirmation of the crash site, proceeding with recovery. Out.”

The three Hogs pulled up to the crash site. Frost ordered them to assume a perimeter around it; Frost’s truck to the right side, towards the rear, Knight’s took the front, slightly to the left, and Langley’s was placed on the right side. Everyone dismounted except for the gunners; Frost ordered Bishop onto his gun. He took Maddox and Langley with him to inspect the downed Longsword and ordered the rest to provide overwatch. 

While Maddox brought an extinguisher out of the Hog and began putting out the fire, Frost and Langley stepped into the front piece. It was as if it had been perfectly cut in half by a giant cleaver. The cockpit was partially demolished; much of the paneling was snapped loose, there were exposed, sparking wires, the controls and accompanying panels were destroyed, and there thousands of pieces of small debris on the flooring. 

“UNSC friendlies coming in,” Frost said loudly and cautiously, wishing to avoid a blue on blue incident. As they closed in, they found the crew. None of the bodies were in their seats and most of the seats were gone anyways. The impact had thrown the crew forward and they were nearly in a pile. All of them were twisted in grotesque ways; bones pierced skin, stomachs had ruptured, blood vessels had exploded. One man, the copilot, had his head caved in against a metal spar that broke loose. 

“They didn’t even have a chance,” Langley whispered.

“Let’s start getting them out of here,” Frost said in a dejected tone. He crouched in front of the bodies and began to reach for one. Then, a hand lifted up from one and grabbed his wrist. “Fuck!” he cried. A filthy female officer in a flight suit pulled herself up and gasped. Blood was leaking out of her right side; it wasn’t gushing but steadily coming out between her fingers as she applied pressure. 

Frost had to pry her wrist off. With Langley, they dragged her away from the bodies and propped her against the bulkhead in a sitting posture. The corpsman took a canister of biofoam, inserted the nozzle into the puncture, and squeezed the trigger. Beige foam filled it and solidified. The officer let out a relieved sigh.

“Sergeant, talk to her,” Langley said as she began assessing her for other wounds. Frost took out all three of his green chem-lights. He set one down near them, tossed another at the entrance to the section of the craft, and another towards the cockpit. Then, he and Langley took off their night vision goggles.

“Ma’am, can you tell me your name?” he asked.

“Lieutenant Alvarez, pilot,” came the stilted reply.

“What ship are you assigned to?”

“UNSC  _ I’m Alone _ .”

“Us too, we probably walked by each other a few times,” Frost said. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant, we’re going to get you back to the ship for treatment in no time flat.”

“I think my entire crew is dead,” Alvarez said weakly, looking over at the bodies. Frost reached up, gently cupped her cheek, and made her look back at him.

“You’re all going home,” was all he said. He heard footsteps behind him and found Maddox looking over his shoulder. “Call it in, Madds. One survivor. Get Moser and start loading the bodies on the truck.”

“Got it,” he said, raising the handset as he began heading back outside of the wreck. “Six, Two-one. Pushed to the crash site, one survivor, three KIA...”

Moments later, the two grenadiers arrived and began conveying the bodies out. They were careful with the corpses. Frost crouched closer in front of Alvarez to block her view. She was talking on her own now and seemed to be more clear-headed. Langley continued to apply disinfectant and adhesive bandages to surface wounds on her arms. Lifting her jacket, she found second degree burns on her lower back and began applying copious amounts of burn cream. Despite having received a shot of meds, Alvarez seemed to be more clear-headed.

“We were providing CAS and some Banshees tried to fall back. We pursued, shot two down, but we went too far and were over hostile ground. I honestly don’t know what hit us, could have been AA. But it was a bad hit and a hard landing.”

She shook her head. Alvarez was a few years older than Frost, she had rich, black hair and a narrow, tan face. Her eyelashes were thick and dark. There was a dusting of freckles on both cheeks that were almost lost in her skin tone. Like Grant’s, her eyes were of a light, amber color. “This was a good crew. I got them killed.”

“No, the Covenant did that,” Frost assured her. “We’re going to get you back on the  _ I’m Alone _ , you’ll recover, and then you can dish it back out. The Covvies will wish they never crossed swords with you.”

He could see in her eyes his rhetoric wouldn’t stick. On some level, he knew that. He searched for something more meaningful or at least empathetic to say. Anything to assuage her survivor’s guilt before it took root.

“Nate, got something, need you out here,” Steele said over the TEAMCOM. 

“Roger.” Frost tapped Langley. “Be back in a sec. You got this?”

“Get Maddox and Moser back in here, I’ll need help with the litter.”

Frost passed by the two on his way out and ordered them back in. He found Steele at their Warthog on the passenger’s side. He was standing by the front with the bipod of his SRS99C-S2 on the hood.

“Thought I caught some movement, one hundred fifty meters.”

Frost lifted his binoculars and began scanning the environment. “It’s the one with the single tree on and all the bushes.”

“Got it.”

Frost located the target and began studying it. There was no wind so the bushes were static. Nothing seemed to be moving. Just when he was about to lowered his scope, a head popped up. An Elite raised its Type-25 plasma rifle and roared. Suddenly, dozens of plasma weapons opened up on their positions. Green and blue bolts pummeled their Warthogs and sizzled by over their heads. “Contact front, contact front!” Frost shouted. “Return fire!”

Bishop, Knight, and Grant, all on the M41’s, began firing back. Automatic fire raked the hilltops and sliced up the bushes the Covenant were using for concealment. Elites attempted to charge down the slopes with their Grunt squads but were quickly cut down. Yet they were replaced by more alien infantry. Frost peppered away with short controlled bursts from his MA5B. Having put his night vision goggles back on, he simply pointed the weapon’s laser attachment at the enemy and squeezed the trigger. Steele picked off targets, killing Elites with headshots. He rapidly cycled magazines.

When Frost ducked down to reload, he again found Maddox with him. The systems operator peeked around the front and fired his M7 in short bursts. Frost grabbed the handset from his radio. “Six, Two-one Actual!”

“Roger Two-one, wait one.”

“The fuck!?” Frost yelled angrily, taking his finger off the key. A moment later, Conroy’s voice returned.

“Send your traffic, Two-one.”

“We’ve got Covenant assaulting the crash site!” Frost reported, peeking over the hood. “Enemy presence much larger than my call sign! Requesting CAS.”

“Roger, Two-one, uh...wait one.” Frost swore again as plasma continued to fly over his head. “Two-one, no available air assets at this time and you are out of range for arty. Recommend immediate exfil.”

Frost knew that was a no-go. Despite the squad rocking away on the M41’s, they were receiving very heavy fire. To make matters worse, he was now seeing pink needles slamming into the armor of the trucks and slicing through the air past the gunners. Jackal marksman were moving in. Carrying a litter would slow them down and would make a juicy target for them.

“Negative on exfil,” Frost said, “we’re pinned down.”

“Roger, Two-one, I’ll see what I can do. Six out.”

“It’s getting too hot to stay on the guns!” Bishop shouted. Needles were now embedding themselves on the gun shields. Frost was amazed to see them flying right by the team leader, grazing his arms and cutting up his sleeves. If they stayed on the guns any longer they would be shot, but then they would lose their heaviest weapons. 

“Eyes on Bravo-kilo!” Grant shouted. Frost looked up. Grunts were retreating from the masses and piles of dead bodies tumbling down the hillside. Larger forms began to appear behind them. Heavily armed and armored, Brutes pressed down the slope firing their machine pistols. Others lobbed spike and plasma grenades. One detonated right in front of Knight’s truck and peppered the gun shield with shrapnel. 

“Dismount and get into the wreck for cover!” Frost ordered. “Gunners first! Steele, Maddox, Moser covering fire!” They unleashed a fusillade of fire, cutting down several Brutes in the first wave. They were now at the bottom of the slope and covering about eight meters of ground to the crash site. “Alright, our turn. Moser, go, Maddox, go, Steele, keep the fuck up!”

All four raced to the wreckage, plasma bolts and spike rounds flying between their legs. They tore into it and began assuming defensive positions. Knight already knocked out the cockpit glass and along with Grant and Moser, were returning fire. Bishop and Maddox were able to gather some of the wreckage and made a piecemeal bulwark facing the entrance to the craft. At some point, Langley had gone into the stern section of the splintered Longsword and retrieved some supply crates that were standard issue to the birds. Some crates carried tools for repairs and others supplies in case pilots were downed. She arrayed these in a parallel bulwark, providing cover for their casualty. 

Frost and Steele leaped over the crates and sat shoulder to shoulder.

“Those Brutes get in here, we’re fucked,” Steele grunted.

“We’re not going to make this easy for them.”

“Nate, it’s Six!” Maddox yelled, coming over and giving him the handset.

“This is Two-One Actual!” Frost shouted.

“We’re scrambling two Hornets to your position. ETA, five minutes.”

“Wilco!” Frost gave the handset back. “Five minutes until air support! Bishop, Maddox, up here. Steele, get up into the cockpit and keep sniping. Grant, Moser, break’em up with the forty mike-mike!”

“Sergeant,” Alvarez croaked. Looking over, he found the pilot had stood up and was holding an M6D sidearm. “Where should I go?”

There was no time to argue and he needed every gun. 

“You’re with me, Lieutenant.”

Frost faced the ragged, crumbling entrance to the forward section. As if on cue, the first Brutes rushed in. They were immediately met with a wall of gunfire and collapsed in bloody heaps. Everyone reloaded just as the second wave came in. These were more tenacious and coordinated; some provided covering fire while others attempted to take more ground. Two advanced towards Bishop’s side but he bravely stood up and rapidly fired his M90. The blasts tore chunks out of their armor and flesh. But a third ran up, pushing through the falling bodies of its comrades, and smacked the weapon from Bishop’s hands. 

Frost stood up and shifted his fire. “Get back!” he shouted at Bishop. He emptied all sixty rounds of his magazine into the Brute. He was able to kill it but having abandoned his own field of fire, he left himself exposed. When he turned back, another Brute tore his MA5 from his hands so hard he thought his fingers were broken. It swung one of its massive fists but he was able to sidestep it. He socked it right on the nose but he regretted it instantly; it was like punching concrete and it enraged the beast. 

Howling angrily, the Brute pushed through the supply crates and grabbed Frost. He was lifted off his feet but reacted quickly. Drawing his KA-BAR knife, he stabbed it several times in the armpit and side. But the Brute kept roaring, baring its stained yellow fangs and its beady, orange eyes lighting up. It slammed him against the bulkhead, knocking the wind out of him. Despite gasping for breath, he swapped his knife to the other hand and brought it down on the Brute’s muscular shoulder. Wrenching it free, he drove it into its neck. 

Gurgling and choking on the blood coming from its mouth, the Brute kept fighting. Before Frost could land another blow, he saw the barrel of an M6D come into view. Alvarez pressed the barrel against the Brute’s temple and fired. The round tumbled out the opposite side of its skull and it dropped on the floor, dead. Frost freed himself, recovered, collected his MA5, and returned to the firing line. Alvarez had collected an M7, no doubt a secondary personal defense weapon, and stood beside him as they fired at the Brutes. Their numbers thinned, Grunts and Skirmishes attempted to overrun their position. He could hear the nimbler aliens jumping onto the top of the craft and trying to find a way in. Behind him, Steele, Moser, and Grant continued to fire through the cockpit. Spent cartridges tinkled onto the metal flooring and empty magazines followed them. 

Then, over the gunfire, Frost heard a familiar, reassuring sound. A whirring of engines combined with the rattling of gatling guns.

“White Two-One, this is Sparrow Three, mark your position.” Maddox deployed a beacon, courageously rushing out during a lull in the close fighting and lobbing it onto the roof of the bird. “Two-One, we’ve got your strobe. Engaging targets, recommend you stay inside that bird until the Pelican drops.”

“Wilco, Sparrow Three, wilco!”

Frost went to the front of the aircraft and looked out. Yellow tracers tore through the swathes of Covenant troops caught in the open. Clots were blasted apart by missiles. Marines riding on the sides of the VTOL’s fired rocket launches, killing dozens. Steadily, the Covenant began to retreat to their original positions. Streams of plasma flew skyward and the Hornets quickly dodged them. 

“White Two-One, this is Yankee Triple Seven, we’re going to touch down behind the tail section of the downed Longsword in one mike.”

“Roger that, Triple Seven.” Frost assembled the squad, ordered Alvarez into the litter, and ordered Bishop, Knight, Grant, and Langley to each take hold of a handle. Stepping out of the Longsword, he watched the Pelican descend and landed out of sight behind the stern section. “Alright, follow me!”

Frost led the way to the Pelican. When they were halfway there, he heard a horrifying sound behind him. Looking back, one of the Hornets was hit in its rotor. It began to spiral downwards. He could see the pilot fighting for control in the cockpit. Just before it crashed, the two Marines on either side jumped off, landing in the dirt. The Hornet hit the ground and slid towards the Longsword for about ten or twelve meters. 

He looked back at his squad. “Keep going!” he shouted before turning around and racing for the downed VTOL. He found the two Marines struggling to open the cockpit. With Frost’s help, they managed to open it and pull the pilot out. “Go, go, go, I’ll cover you!” Frost shouted. With the pilot between them, the Marines retreated towards Yankee Triple Seven. Exposing himself to draw fire, Frost loosed several bursts at the Covenant before following them. The other Hornet expended the last of its ammunition and drew off, dodging a fuel rod cannon burst.

Plasma scorched the ground all around him. Frost pumped his arms and legs as fast as he could. Ahead, he saw his squad all waving at him to hurry. Skidding over, he assisted the wounded into the Pelican. Jumping up, he took hold of both handles of Alvarez’s litter and began pulling her up. Having lifted his goggles, he could see her face in the dull red light of the Pelican’s interior. She looked absolutely exhausted but she offered him a smile. Just as the others lifted the litter, a pink trail soared through the air and a needler embedded itself in Alvarez’s chest. Her eyes bulged briefly and then lost their light. Slowly, her head nodded to the side. Frost stared for a moment in disbelief before heaving the rest of the litter in. The squad followed and Isha closed the rear hatch. As the Pelican’s cabin pressurized, everyone gazed down at Alvarez. The needle popped, sprinkling pink shards over her chest. Blood seeped from the wound. Langley examined her, checked manually for a pulse after using her scanner. She looked up at Frost and shook her head. 

Nobody spoke as they stared in disappointment. Finally, Steele took off his helmet, wiped the sweat and dust off his face with a single swipe, and then ran the same hand through his thick, blonde locks. He shook his head. 

“Fuck me,” he breathed.

“Maddox, radio,” Frost said, holding his hand out towards the systems operator. When it was placed in his hand, he raised it to his ear and keyed it. 

“Six, Two-One,” he sighed. “Exfil successful. One KIA.”


	28. Designs

Jasmine stood beside Vivian. She could tell that the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ captain was seething impatiently. Colonel Hayes was also present, having returned from the planetside command center. He was still dressed in his M52B body armor which made him seem twice as big than he already was. A small medical team waited beside Jasmine; all eyes were on the approaching Pelican. 

Yankee Triple Seven slowly entered the hangar. As it landed, it made a one hundred eighty degree turn so the stern of the dropship was facing the small crowd. Once it touched down, the rear hatch opened. The first one out was Isha, the crew chief, who helped the downed Hornet pilot and crew members out. Jasmine sent her waiting medical team over to them although she could see no serious wounds besides some first degree burns and some cuts. Frost and his squad emerged carrying a litter covered by a blanket. She could tell by their sagging shoulders and defeated expressions their morale was abysmal but they managed to walk with their heads held up. Another medical team was waiting nearby and they approached them. Carefully, the litter was exchanged and the body of Alvarez was taken away. 

Sergeant Frost trooped over to Colonel Hayes. 

“Sir, I’d like to make my report.” His superior officer nodded. “We pushed to the crash site. Recovered the KIA’s, treated Alvarez, but the Covenant ambushed us. Very heavy fire, we couldn’t sit on the guns, and we retreated inside the destroyed Longsword. Came down to hand to hand. Exfil showed up, went back for the downed Hornet, got them out, but Alvarez was killed when we tried to get her in the bird. It was instant.”

“There was nothing you could have done. And you did a hell of a thing down there. I’ve put your entire squad in for Commendation Medals and you for the Silver Star.”

“Yes, sir,” Frost said, shrugging a little. 

“That’s it?” Vivian suddenly said. She stepped in front of Hayes and grabbed Frost by the collar of his chest piece. “It was instant? Nothing you could have done? You were tasked to get one of  _ our  _ pilots out of there and you failed. You need a better reason that, ‘it’s just war.’”

Frost’s gray eyes turned fiery and he gritted his teeth. 

“Permission to speak freely, Captain.”

“Don’t patronize me. Speak!”

“You weren’t fucking there! We went out without ass, air, or arty, not even a QRF! That mission was a by the book shitshow, courtesy of the UNSC Navy and you’re blaming me for its failure?”

“Hey Cap’,” Corporal Steele said, marching over and putting his arm in between them. “She got shot by a sniper. End of the fucking story. It  _ is  _ war, people die, get used to it. So why don’t you get your hands off my squad leader and fuck off home, eh?”

“Corporal, shut your mouth. Marines don’t speak to superior officers that way,” Hayes ordered in a menacing tone. He grabbed the sniper by his collar and pulled him away with ease. “Captain, I’d ask you to refrain from putting your hands on my Marines like that again.” He removed Vivain’s hand from Frost’s collar and then put himself in between them. First, he looked at Frost. “You don’t speak to officers that way either, Sergeant. You are a Marine; on the battlefield, you are a warrior, ruthless and aggressive. On this ship, you are to respect the chain of command no matter the circumstances.”

He spun around on his heel, folded his hands behind his back, and gazed down at Vivian. “You are the battlegroup commander. It is unbefitting of your character to behave in this manner in front of other officers and enlisted men. When you need to have words with any service member, regardless of rank, you do it behind closed doors, not for their sake, but for your own. And you  _ never  _ put your hands on them. That is entirely inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate?” Vivian echoed, nearly spitting the word. “One of your Marines failed his mission and you’re lecturing me on what is and isn’t appropriate?”

Whatever composure Frost still possessed disappeared. He stormed around Hayes and pointed in her face.

“My squad and I did the best we fucking could, alright!? Do you think I like failing missions? I wanted to get her out of there just as much as you did! I’m sorry, okay!?” He turned and faced Hayes. “And I don’t want a fucking medal, sir! I don’t want it, I don’t need it!”

At that moment, Jasmine felt impotent and infantile. It was like watching an argument between a friend’s parents or worse, between one’s own parents. She was an officer too and it felt like there was something she could do. Intervene, be the voice of reason, bring some solidarity back to these people who were supposed to be comrades in arms. Instead, she found herself trapped between the notion and the unwillingness to lecture her friend and superior officer in front of others. That didn’t seem right or fair even if what Vivian was doing was just as inappropriate. 

She felt sorry for Frost especially. He had just been through a terrible firefight in which he almost lost his life defending a single pilot and in the end was unable to save her. His reward was military bravado he disdained and a lecture he did not want nor did he believe he deserved. Seeing the tears well up in his eyes, she felt the urge to embrace him, not as a fellow soldier but as a person. 

Vivian was about to speak but Hayes put his hand up. Frost was done. Shaking his head, he turned and began to follow his squad back out of Hangar 01. Jasmine briefly glanced at Vivian. She didn’t want to disrespect her feelings but she couldn’t ignore her own. Tucking her data pad under her arm, she jogged after him and touched his arm. He stopped slightly and looked at her tiredly. 

“This isn’t your fault. Please, don’t blame yourself.”

“Not my fault!?” he hollered, making her recoil. “Whose fault is it then? Captain Waters seems to think it’s mine. And you know what, fine, she’s probably right. There were a thousand ways we could have done this differently and instead I went for the one that got the person we were there to save killed. Yeah, that’s worth a fucking medal isn’t!?”

He tore off his helmet and chucked it across the deck. Jasmine opened her mouth to speak and reached out for him. But he deflected her hand with his own. “Just leave me alone!” The rest of his squad was waiting by the exit. When he went through, the rest followed except for Steele. The sniper watched him go, looked back at Jasmine, and then walked all the way over to Frost’s helmet. He picked it up and walked over to her. 

“He’s hard on himself,” he said, running his hand across the white letters that read, ‘FROST,’ on the back of his olive drab helmet. He actually smiled although his expression was sad. Finally, he looked up at her with a pair of blue eyes filled with understanding. It was rather shocking to see a Marine so aloof and detached suddenly appear sympathetic. “He didn’t mean to...”

“I understand.”

“He doesn’t actually mean...”

“I know.”

Steele tipped his helmet and followed his squad. Jasmine watched him go. When she turned around she found Vivian standing there. She gazed at her sternly with her hands balled into fists. Jasmine knew what she was going to say and met her friend’s expression with a serious one of her own. “Are you that thoughtless? Or maybe you’re just heartless. That man did the best he could and you berated him for it.”

“He deserved it.”

“Is that because he failed the mission or because you hate his guts? Just because you have that kind of animosity towards him doesn’t mean you can act like that.”

“What do you want me to do? Give him a hug and a big kiss?” she quickly looked around to make sure nobody was an earshot. Jasmine scoffed that only now was Vivian becoming aware of the people around who witnessed the unprofessional spectacle. She grasped Jasmine by the shoulder and leaned in close. “That man killed my friends and now he’s failed a mission. Someone died because of that. What am I supposed to do?”

“Be a  _ leader _ . Tell these people who are under  _ your  _ command that next time they’ll succeed and give a blow to the Covenant. Raise their morale. Let them know you’re proud of their service and sacrifice. You can’t just do what you want because of what this one Marine has done in the past. Frost did everything he could and you should recognize that.”

“Everything he could? You weren’t there,” Vivian spat.

“Neither were you,” Jasmine replied and turned around. She went into the hall Frost and his squad went. She expected to find them only at their barracks but spied Frost and Steele down the hall. The former was leaning back against a bulkhead, keeled forward, and was covered his eyes with one hand. Steele was in front of him and rested his hand on the back of Frost’s head. Jasmine approached cautiously and stopped once she was within earshot. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay, bruv, it’s okay to cry.”

“I’m not crying.”

“I know, I’m just sayin’, it’s okay to cry.”

Jasmine winced, lowered her gaze, and decided now wasn’t the right time. 

  
  


Three days passed before mopping operations concluded. Fleet scans, aerial recon, and RRC units combed the planet but confirmed the Covenant presence was completely eradicated. With their homeworld saved, the colonists rejoiced and threw massive celebrations throughout the cities. A great deal of the Army garrison and many Marines from the 89 th participated but it was heavily restricted on Captain Waters’ orders. She didn’t want the UNSC’s warriors to become too relaxed in case a new Covenant threat appeared nor did she want swathes of personnel too inebriated when they set sail again. 

At first, it was easy to participate but as the amount of losses were tallied, the time for mourning began. Hundreds of Marines were dead and hundreds more were wounded. Casualties for the Army and Air Force garrison were far worse. Funerals were held, flags were lowered, and rifles fired in salute. It was a sad state of affairs Steele experienced many times before and disliked attending. These events only drove home the loss of so many brave Marines he knew personally. In the end, he holed up in his barracks with the rest of the squad. There, they celebrated in a more quiet way. 

Everyone circled up on the deck and played hands of poke. Bets consisted of cigarette packs, chocolate, and pastry bars swiped from the mess hall. While the games were certainly competitive, it was customary for the winner to share the spoils. Nobody really took the bets seriously. In many cases, everyone just collected whatever they put in no matter the winner. Then, they dealt new hands and played again, with the ante being the same. 

Steele dolled out more cards, took a brief drag on his cigarette, then set the deck down. His blonde mop of hair was still wet from the shower. Nobody spoke as they eyed their cards warily. Their door was open and he heard music playing quiet from other barracks and the occasional bout of laughter. Many other squads were playing games of their own but the  _ I’m Alone  _ remained very quiet. He thought of the news footage people watched in the Inner Colonies or on Earth; when victories were announced, all they saw were happy-faced UNSC troops cheering, laughing, and celebrating. Like everyone in the Armed Forces, they wanted to be victorious. But most didn’t see the hidden costs behind success. They didn’t know about people like Alvarez who was shot down while protecting ground troops and paid for it with a quick, clean, and otherwise typical shot from an enemy sniper. Of course, anybody with half a brain knew ONI Section-Two carefully spliced the news together, minimizing the Covenant threat and blowing up UNSC victories. Sometimes, minor fleet actions or successful ground skirmishing were trumped up as gigantic, war-changing battles. 

No matter what, the public didn’t know that once the first cheers were over that their warriors returned to their bunks and quietly passed the time, much like after a defeat. It was beginning to become difficult to tell the difference between success and failure, at least to Steele. As for the public and ONI Sec-Two, he could care less. Home, or what barely constituted home for this Marine, was so far from his mind it was more like a concept instead of a tangible construct. And whether they won or lost a battle, he figured any battle they came back alive from was a victory. If a planet was lost or not, that didn’t matter.

He sneaked a glance at Frost who was sitting beside him. The NCO didn’t play cards as much as everyone else. His friend never adequately explained why he refrained from card playing but Steele assumed it was because he disliked gambling in general. Frost was a bigger-picture kind of Marine, one who understood the grander strategic situation than the common grunt. That’s why failure hit him harder than everybody else. He was fighting this war to win and when there were setbacks, they were hard on him. Losing Alvarez was a sledgehammer blow for him; Frost the man wanted to save another human life and Frost the Marine wanted to keep another warrior in the fight. In both respects, he failed. Now he was ruminating and brooding over it. That was not just bad for him, that was bad for the squad. 

When the hand finished and the squad decided to take a break, Steele elbowed him.

“Wanna hit the gym?”

“We earned a rest. Let’s take it easy,” Frost said. That wasn’t what Steele wanted to hear. His squad leader needed an objective and direction. Steele wracked his brain, trying to figure out how he could get Frost out of the barracks and out of his own head. He took the cigarette away from his lips and exhaled a thin, gray cloud.

“You were pretty rough on the Doc.”

Frost blinked and looked at him as if he was surprised. Steele shrugged and wiggled the cigarette between his index and middle fingers. “She was only trying to help and you got in her face.”

His gray eyes fell to the titanium deck. Frost sighed and shook his head. Steele knew the Sergeant and Dr. Jasmine exceeded the standard, acceptable regulations regarding fraternization between officers and enlisted men. It was safe to say there were acquaintances or even friends. Many times, he spotted the pair speaking together as naturally as two coworkers taking a stroll through the park on a break. Steele didn’t know her all that well aside from the medical evaluations she held. Out of respect for his friend, he did his best to be polite around her. Doctors offices and hospitals weren’t to his liking. But she seemed nice enough and he didn’t want things to go sour between her and Frost; that would be detrimental to the NCO’s morale.

“That’s not right. I should go apologize.”

“Good idea,” Steele said. Frost still looked troubled. The sniper handed over his cigarette and Frost took a puff.

“We shouldn’t be smoking in a pressurized environment like this.”

“Yeah, we shouldn’t.” Steele took it back and took another drag. “Cap’ really seemed like she was in your face. Seemed like something else was going on there. Wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Frost said in a very cold tone he never used with Steele. 

Doc Jasmine was somebody Steele could understand. She was transparent to a degree and not the type who seemed like she held secrets. Her kindness was genuine and reports of her skill both as a surgeon and physician were already spreading throughout the ship. People felt safe with her around. On the other hand, Captain Waters was far more puzzling. In a strange way that was actually a good thing. Leaders needed to keep some things reserved from the people under their command. But she was different; intelligent, highly skilled, and definitely aggressive, she already made a big splash. She was popular among the Marines, not because she socialized with them often but because she saved them back on Ambition. Any commander who was able to bring their troops victory as also someone to be admired in a general way. But there was something about her, the way she looked at people, and the way she seemed to glide through the long halls and corridors of the  _ I’m Alone  _ that made her seem unsettling. 

The more Steele thought about it, the more he began to think about a cat that used to roam the street where he lived. All of the kids who skipped school took a liking to it, feeding it treats and rubbing its belly. Nobody knew what kind of breed it was but they ended up calling her Tabby. She loved cuddling people’s legs and purred happily whenever someone scratched the top of her head. Then one day, a friend of his scratched the top of her head and Tabby whirled around and clawed his hand up. Someone who came over got Tabby’s nails in his calf. Everybody avoided Tabby after that but the next day she was her usual self. What caused her to become so aggressive was a mystery to everybody. It just drove home how cats were unpredictable and that they could tap into their wild side at any time. 

  
  


Overlooking Hangar 01 were administrative officers allocated to all the service branches aboard the  _ I’m Alone _ . Most were dedicated to various Navy officers who were in charge of different aircraft wings or facilities. Some were for Colonel Hayes and his officers, a few for Major Holst and his ODSTs, and there was even an officer for the three Army liason officers who helped the  _ I’m Alone  _ coordinate with ground forces.

Vivian knocked on the door to the office occupied by Commander Dennis Ngouabi. Terran-born but raised in the Inner Colonies, he was a stout man who originally began as an enlisted man during the late Insurrection period but then went to Navy OCS. At forty years old, he was a decorated officer who took part in countless engagements over the course of the war. Most of his career was spent flying Navy orbital craft and now served as the battlegroup’s CAG: Commander Air Group. Normally, such an officer would have been on a carrier but the  _ I’m Alone _ , like many UNSC ships, was built with hangars and carried multiple aircraft wings. His experience and skillset were invaluable so far.

“Captain, good to see you,” he said in a warm tone. Vivian nodded and joined him by the window. Gazing down into Hanger 01, they watched mechanics crawl all over their interceptors and dropships, their tools sparking as they repaired plasma damage. 

“The air wing did a lot of good out there, I’m really proud of them,” Vivian told him. 

“I’ll pass that onto them, thank you, Captain. If you don’t mind me saying it, you really gave the Covvies hell. That was some damn fine flying; some of my pilots called your maneuvers the Water Bounce.”

Vivian chuckled. It was merely her own spin on a valid tactic she learned at Luna OCS. Changing elevations between different lines of battle had the disadvantage of spreading out one’s firepower, similar to how a fusillade of musketry was less effective if it wasn’t massed. But, when fighting against a single enemy line, it gave them too many targets and made it difficult to mass their own firepower. Pushing forward while changing elevations made evasion easier because the plasma had difficult following targets and gave ships times to recharge their main weapons. That was Vivian’s personal touch to the plan, making it an offense tactic rather than a merely defensive, reactive measure to minimize damage. 

Ngouabi saw through her attempt to mask how pleased she was that the strategy worked. He smiled at her. “We need new blood like you. Fresh, aggressive; people who aren’t beat up by the war. You’ll inject some life into this Navy, that’s for sure.”

The two parted from the window. Ngouabi sat at his desk and Vivian sat on the opposite side. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to apologize personally for the failed rescue mission regarding Lieutenant Alvarez. I understand she was one of your best.”

“Experienced, hard working, brave, intelligent; you couldn’t ask anything more out of a pilot and officer. She actually served under me on another ship, the  _ Ten Fathoms _ . She impressed everybody and she was easy to like. And she loved flying, she really lived for it.”

Ngouabi folded his hands on the edge of the desk and leaned forward. “Those Marines did the best they could from what I hear. It was a tough mission. Hasty, a lack of support, and the units normally assigned to rescue ops weren’t available.” Vivian tense, wondering if this veteran was going to lecture her regarding her command decision. She could brace and bear it enough, but she knew it would be harder coming from someone who may have been junior by rank but was a career man who had much more time in the service. 

But he spoke gently to her. “Sometimes, these are the decisions we have to make as leaders. We like to think there’s a good choice and a bad choice. In war, there’s just bad and worse. It’s something every leader, right down to the NCOs among the ground troops, have to accept.” 

Ngouabi leaned back. “As far as I’m concerned, those Marines did the very best they could and that is absolutely enough. I hope you were able to impart that onto them and their squad leader. From what I’ve heard, Sergeant Frost is a very promising Marine and he took it very hard.”

Vivian did her best not to bristle when she heard that. Images that replayed thousands of times ran through her mind again. Shadows, flashes, brass cartridges glinting in the bright muzzle flashes, their tinkling on the floor, white clenched teeth, and a quick blade. Screams, blood, gunpowder, laughter. Every sound she heard that night reverberated in her eardrums. The vomit-inducing stench of open flesh and the acrid scent of gunpowder filled her nostrils. Even the glare from the overhead light reminded her of how blinding those muzzle flashes were. Briefly, she shut her eyes and opened them up. It was like waking up and she was back on the  _ I’m Alone  _ speaking to Ngouabi. 

He hadn’t seemed to notice her distress. If he did, he didn’t plan to comment on it. “I think it would mean a lot to him if you spoke to him. Let him know that he did what he could.”

Clearly, Ngouabi hadn’t heard of the argument in the hangar the other day. Vivian nodded and stood up.

“Thank you, Commander.”

He stood up as she left. When she entered the hall, her data pad pinged with a notification> Opening it up, she saw it was from Jasmine. 

_ Viv, you’ve skipped your physical twice already. It’s mandatory after a slipspace jump. Get to medical before I send someone to drag you here. -Jas. _

***

Vivian sat on the edge of the examination table. She was putting on her tunic while Jasmine finished plugging some notes in her data pad. When Vivian finished dressing, she hopped off the table and held her arms out. “So, what’s your prognosis? I’m a perfectly fit, healthy, species of a young woman with a rocking can. Check?”

Jasmine looked up from her data pad. The expressions in her gem-like eyes were not amused. Vivian’s smile disappeared. The doctor finished her notes and tucked her data pad back under her arm before readjusting her glasses.

“Yes, you’re healthy. You noted during your last visit you’ve been experiencing heavy periods.” Jasmine handed her a capsule of pills. “Take these once a day. They’ll balance your hormones.” Vivian took the capsule and stuffed them into her pocket. “If the issue persists, I can prescribe you a refill.”

“Because standing in line at the ship’s pharmacy is going to look dignified for the captain,” Vivian complained. Jasmine frowned and narrowed her eyes behind her glasses.

“Everybody has to. Even me. Nobody’s going to think less of your authority because you’re picking up scripts like them.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Vivian smiled. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“I’m your doctor, always have, and I’m sure I always will be.” Jasmine smiled. “Do you remember when you got sick at Luna? The stomach bug that leveled everybody? Our quarter turned into a ward and I was treating everybody. You were  _ really  _ sick, you were barfing like a bridesmaid who drank too much at the bachelorette party.”

“I can’t believe Mrs. No Demerits got away with sneaking meds out of the school infirmary,” Vivian teased. 

“That doctor was very unprofessional. I have no qualms about raiding his supply,” Jasmine said, closing her eyes and lifting her nose in a posh manner. 

Jasmine loved taking care of people. It fell right in line with her empathetic nature. Somebody who could literally feel another person’s physical pain needed to become a doctor. That kind of understanding, the ability to put herself in the patient’s shoes, made Jasmine an excellent medical professional on top of her intellectualism and work ethic. The  _ I’m Alone  _ and the rest of the battlegroup were lucky to have somebody like her. 

The smile Jasmine was wearing faded. She sighed, cleared her throat, and then nodded at the door. “You’re free to go.”

Vivian shook her head.

“You’re not okay, Jas. Talk to me.” Vivian waited for her to respond but the doctor remained silent. “I wanted to come by earlier but I was glued to the bridge for the past few days while our ops concluded.”

“You’ve got plenty of things to do, Viv.”

“Oh no, you don’t get to pull that one. Friends are important.” 

Jasmine remained silent and appeared hesitant to speak. Vivian already had a feeling of what was bothering her and braced for it uncomfortably. Anger eventually burned out and while her animosity towards Frost remained, the frustration from the other day abated. Knowing she had once more, if less grievously, stepped outside her bounds as a Navy officer and was dismissive of her friend, Vivian knew this was going to be bad. Still, Jasmine didn’t speak. Instead, she set her data pad down and leaned against the examination table. 

Unsure of what to do, Vivian did the same. “It’s about what happened in the hangar.”

Jasmine looked down at her feet and shrugged. Vivian sighed and stared ahead at the titanium bulkhead. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. I made a real ass out of myself, too.” She swallowed a little and looked down at her feet too. “And I know you and...him..are friends. Nobody likes it when their friend yells at them like that.” She recalled how angry Frost looked when he got in Jasmine’s face. “It really sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” Jasmine murmured. Vivian finally looked at her. 

“Are you upset with him because of that?”

“Shocked. I never expected it from him. He just seems so...well, not gentlemanly but just very nice. Kind of a weak thing to say, I know. But just very thoughtful. You don’t imagine someone like him snapping.”

Vivian looked ahead and pursed her lips. She felt Jasmine’s eyes on her. “I know it bothers you that he and I are friends. I can imagine how that makes you feel. It must be like a betrayal.”

“I know you disapprove of the way I think and what I want to do because it’s unbecoming of an officer. But what happened isn’t some little dispute. People died because of him.”

“Haven’t you tried talking to him about it? Tried to get his side of things. Maybe that would help you understand what happened.”

“Even if I wanted to, I’m not sure I could bring myself to actually do it.”

“Maybe you could try working your way up to it. Why not talk to some members of his squad, like Corporal Steele. He was there, too. You could learn something about him or about Skopje.”

“I guess,” Vivian said, refusing to commit to anything. She looked at Jasmine. The doctor’s dark locks were loose from the thick bun she wore. Some spilled over her brow and cheeks, slightly obscuring her face. After a few moments of hesitation and wondering just what to do, Vivian reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “No matter what, you’re my friend. You’ve always got my shoulder.”

She got up and went for the door. 

“Viv.” She turned around in the door and looked back at Jasmine. A small smile tugged at the doctor’s lips. “The same goes for you.

  
  


Frost knocked ont he door to Jasmine’s office. There was no response. Another officer from her staff was walking by and he approached her. 

“Lieutenant, excuse me, but is Dr. Ebrahimi busy right now.”

“I think she just got out of a physical eval but she shouldn’t be too busy. Go on in.”

“But is she busy?”

“She’s always busy, Sergeant. If she doesn’t have time for you, she’ll send you out.”

The Lieutenant left, disappeared among other doctors, physicians, dentists, nurses, and trauma staff all reporting to their stations. Frost inhaled deeply, opened the door, and walked in. it slid shut behind him. Jasmine was standing in front of the bookcase adjacent to her desk. It seemed like she was organizing them at first but then she began taking some off and setting them down on the desk. Her dark hair was not in a ponytail or bun and fell down to her shoulders. At the ends were a few dark blonde locks. He wasn’t sure if they were natural or merely highlights. Either way, he was never going to ask. Instead of wearing her white lab coat, she instead wore an olive drab sweater with her name tag on the left side of her chest. Just below it was the UNSC Navy logo. Her eyes were focused on her task, serious and studious. She’d flip through a few pages of her hard copy books and seemed to absorb the contents in seconds. 

He watched her for a few moments. Frost suddenly lacked the courage to make his presence known and thought about retreating. It may have not been the best time. But before he could do or say anything, Jasmine turned slightly and gasped. Frost jumped a little himself and held up his hand. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

“It’s alright, you just startled me. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“I can head out if you’re busy.”

“No, no, no, please, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“ _ Sit _ .”

She motioned to her desk and the chairs. But books, data pads, and documents covered everything. Jasmine seemed slightly embarrassed. “My work tends to pile up. There’s a lot of it.” She shrugged a little and looked down at the deck slightly. Her glasses began to slide down the bridge of her nose but she quickly pushed them back up with her finger. 

Frost nodded and glanced at the bolted furniture she kept for speaking sessions. A white pillow and an olive drab blanket were on the couch. He looked back and saw her blushing. She brushed a few locks behind her ears nervously. “Half the time I can’t even get back to my quarters to sleep. It’s easier just to catch some z’s here and get up right for my work.”

“Hope it’s more comfortable than it looks. I remember once were in the field on some Outer Colony world, I forget the name, for thirty-four hours straight. It was this endless combat patrol; advance, gunfight, regroup, advance, gunfight, regroup. Man, it  _ sucked _ . By the time we reached our ORP, the mission was scrubbed so we trekked out there for nothing. We all ended up sleeping right there in the grass and it was the best nights of sleep I ever had in my life. When I woke up, the sun was shining, the flowers were bright, and the grass was still soft.”

As he spoke, Frost went over to one of the chairs and sat down. He expected Jasmine to join him but she remained standing.

“You’ve got a good memory,” she said.

“It’s not about having a good memory. Things just happen that you can’t forget. Won’t you sit?”

“Coffee?”

“You’ve got a coffee maker in here?”

“I’m an officer, remember?” she smirked and went over to the coffee machine. “How do you take it?”

“Lots of cream, lots of sugar.”

Frost waited patiently in his chair. There was nothing to really look at besides Jasmine. She was hunched over a small table next to the bookcase. In front of her, steam billowed out from the coffee pot as she opened it and poured the contents into a mug. He heard the tear of sugar packets followed by the sound of creamer being added. Everything was mixed with a spoon that clanged against the edges of the mug. Immediately, the smell of sweetened coffee filled the room. Instinctively, he inhaled and sighed. Memories of home came flooding back and they were nearly irresistible. 

After unwrapping something and dropping into the mug, Jasmine came over. She handed the steaming cup to Frost who nodded in thanks. He took a small sip and recoiled slightly. “This tastes like chocolate.”

Jasmine sat down with her own cup, took a sip, sighed happily, then winked.

“I really shouldn’t but I sometimes sneak a chocolate bar from the mess. I break a brick or two into the coffee and let it melt.”

“Never had chocolate in my coffee before,” Frost remarked and took another sip. “I really like it. Thanks.”

After that, they didn’t speak for a few minutes. They just politely sipped their coffee and didn’t make eye contact. Frost drummed his fingers against the side of the mug while Jasmine traced the rim with her fingertip. She didn’t look expectant, hopeful, or dejected, just sort of present in the moment. He hoped she was enjoying it as much as he was despite his mounting anxiety. All he could really think of was blowing up in the hangar the other day. 

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “I’m uh...I’m sorry about how I acted.”

Jasmine nodded and smiled a little.

“I appreciate that.” She leaned back in her chair. “Your emotions were running high and Viv...the officer commanding didn’t exactly help the situation either.”

“Yeah,” Frost murmured. “It just got to me, is all. We were so close. The way the Lieutenant was killed just doesn’t sit right with me.”

“War is unpredictable, cruel, and unfair. I think you know this far better than I do. All I can do is regard it from a distance and treat the wounded. You actually experience war. You  _ feel _ it. You have the ability to withstand it, but everybody has a limit, Nate. If you reach it, it hurts you very badly.”

“Hit mine the other day, I suppose.”

“It’s not permanent. You can recover from it and clearly you’ve been able to.” Jasmine winced. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you or treat this like a therapy session. It’s hard not to slip into doctor mode.”

“I get it,” Frost chuckled. “I appreciate it.”

“The best thing to do is to stay active and let your mind recover from those things,” Jasmine finished. “It helps not to ruminate. Talking about it helps more than people think.”

“Yeah, it does help I guess,” Frost shrugged. “Kinda depends on who you talk to, though.”

Jasmine nodded as she took another sip. Frost looked down at his mug, turning it around in his hands. “I like talking to you, Jasmine.”

The words came out very naturally. He surprised himself and looked up. Jasmine blinked behind her glasses. Quickly, she took another sip, rested the mug on her thigh, and averted her gaze. 

“I enjoy speaking with you, too,” she admitted. Frost smiled a little bit.

“Think I could come back again some time? For coffee and conversation?”

“Of course,” Jasmine said with a small, shy smile.


	29. Babes in the Woods, Pt. 1

Chapter 29: Babes in the Woods, Pt. 1

Vivian waited patiently at her desk. For ten minutes, she had sat doing absolutely nothing. The terminal was off and her data-pad was logged off. She didn't want any interruptions. All she could do was tap her foot on the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ deck and rapidly drum her fingers on her desk while she gripped the edge. 

At times like these in civilian life, she would have occupied herself by burying her face in her COM-pad. It was more of a defense mechanism than a means to actually find something to do. Many young people were on their COM-pads all the time anyways so it was a good cover. Lionel City could sometimes be a small place and many people knew her. Unwilling to make eye contact or indulge the inane questions people had about her friends, she simply looked busy to avoid them. The best tool to appear preoccupied was the COM-pad her parents gave her just the year before. Sometimes, she would listen to music or pretend to meticulously study a news article. Other times, she would pretend to type out a message to somebody although she tried to avoid that. Fellow students knew she had few contacts left. Even when she was alone, she felt like she was being watched and it helped just to have the device in her hands. Playing a song, reading, or watching a video tended to pass the time and the noise drove her thoughts off for a time. It was far better than just sitting by herself with nothing  _ but  _ herself. 

Vivian still owned her COM-pad but she rarely used it. It was useless for orbital communications and most of the time military personnel contracted her via her earpiece or the message board on her data-pad. Since OCS, she did her best to ignore the mobile device as much as she could. Too many young officers were found wasting time on it or it proved to be a distraction during exercises. Knowing one day she would have a command of her own, Vivian wanted to be as professional as possible. The lack of a COM-pad might make her seem out of touch but nobody would think she was a time-waster. That was the last thing she needed from her staff, especially the officers on the bridge. 

Already, she wished she was with them instead of waiting for this meeting. Seeing her officers always made her feel better and like she was truly part of a team. Bassot was a man filled with life; his fiery red hair translated to his personality and his gung-ho personality served him well at the weapons station. Koroma seemed born for her role as a communications officer; when she was off-duty she proved to be a real chatterbox. Her rapid-fire mode of speech made her an excellent conversationalist without becoming a nuisance. While on duty, she was laser-focused, though. Tsang proved to be a bit more sarcastic or aloof, seemingly treating his duty with little regard. But that was a front he put on. He was dedicated, professional, and highly intelligent. Vivian trusted him at the operations terminal. Sosa was withdrawn, nearly sullen, but she didn’t need her to be vibrant. A true veteran with the scars to prove it, she provided tactical input when she thought necessary and made sure the  _ I’m Alone _ could glide gracefully through space. That’s all Vivian could ever want from the navigator. Solak was highly efficient even if he was emotionless. She trusted him immensely though; whenever she was off the bridge, she never worried they would make frivolous mistakes. Uwem took his role as the senior enlisted man on the ship seriously and was a real boon when it came to morale. While he may have looked more like a Marine than a sailor, he had excellent organizational skills and supreme initiative. He made sure his duties didn’t bother Vivian unless she truly needed to be a part of them. And there was Delaney, the ONI Sec-One liaison who commanded the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ intelligence staff. Viviian was thankful he wasn’t the typical ONI spook. He was far removed from the secretive nature ONI operatives tended to veil themselves in and was focused on providing the fleet with accurate data. Diligent, astute, and hard-working, she depended on him greatly. 

A while back, Jasmine told her she overheard some of the crew speaking. They came to the conclusion Vivian was born for naval warfare and was a gifted natural when it came to running a ship. As flattering as that was, she attributed her ease of command to the experience and motivated nature of her bridge staff. Each one contributed to the team in their own ways and handled their own duties so well Vivian felt more like an attachment than a commander. In the end, trusting her staff ensured maximum efficiency from the rest of the  _ I’m Alone _ .

A knock on the door caught her attention. 

“Enter.”

Corporal Steele, clad in his utility uniform, walked inside. The door slid shut behind him. He didn’t stand at attention nor did he greet her with, ‘ma’am,’ or, ‘Captain.’ Vivian expected this and decided to ignore it. It was not like this conversation was going in the ship’s log. She motioned to the chair on the other side of the desk. “Have a seat, Corporal.”

Warily, he stepped forward, sat down, and leaned back. Steele was handsome in the face; thick, well-groomed golden blonde hair combed to to the right, a trim mustache, bright blue eyes, lips that weren’t too thin or too big, a narrow face, and angular cheekbones but not gaunt cheeks. In terms of the body, he was more awkward. Standing over six feet tall, he was lanky instead of bulky like many of his fellow Marines. His uniform was a bit baggy in certain parts, mainly around the gut. He put more effort into maintaining his person rather than his uniform. 

Vivian leaned forward and folded her hands on the desk.”Do you know why I requested this meeting, Corporal.”

“Something to do with my squad leader, I’m guessing,” he replied in a flat tone. Vivian would have been impressed if he hadn’t seen the altercation between her and Frost in Hangar 01. 

“Would you like some scotch?” Vivian asked, opening the drawer and displaying the bottle. “A little going away present from Rear Admiral Travers.”

Steele eyed the bottle and then grinned.

“Don’t like scotch.”

For all she knew, it was either bravado or a tactic to show her he wasn’t going to be chummy. Vivian wasn’t trying to butter him up and she hated the idea that he thought she was. She was being polite, nothing more, and doing her best to come across as civil. Steele wasn’t exposed to the truth like Jasmine or Hayes and she still felt the need to preserve her image in front of the remainder of the crew. Although, Steele didn’t seem to have much regard for her anyways and the incident in the hangar probably dashed those hopes already. Still, Vivian was going to try.

She poured a little into one of the glasses. 

“I hope you don’t mind if I indulge.”

“Indulge away.”

Vivian took a sip. “So when are we gonna talk about how you pull a gun on my mate?” Immediately, she lowered the glass and she glared at him. Steele appeared very amused and smiled so wide he flashed his white teeth. 

“I take it Frost told you,” she said, her teeth clenched.

“I was there, you two were just so busy trying to kill each other you didn’t notice,” Steele remarked. He leaned further back, planted the bottom of his left foot on the front of the desk, and draped his arm across the top of the chair’s backrest. “Was ready to put a bullet in you if I’m being honest but I couldn’t line up the shot. You were both moving around too much. Just before I was about to step in, Hayes beat me to the punch. I ain’t said shit to anybody about it, not even Frost.”

Steele reached into a pocket, produced a cigarette, lit it, and began taking long drags on it. Before long, a thin, gray cloud hung above his head. 

“You could have reported me.”

“Wasn’t sure what to do. Overheard the big man lay down the law so I figured I’d follow his lead for once. Not for your sake, though. For my mate’s.”

“You’re very loyal.”

“Yeah, not to fucking flags and creeds and  _ definitely  _ not officers. Nate’s my boy. We’ve looked out for each other since boot.”

Already, Vivian felt like she lost control of the situation. Steele was comfortable, relaxed, and wore a superior, self-satisfied smile. It was infuriating. Then, her anger subsided and she soon wore a smirk as well. 

“In 2537 you were part of a joint Army-Marine operation against Insurrectionists on Skopje.”

Steele’s smile faded. She decided to press it. “You and one of your team leaders cleared a room with five armed teenage girls in it. You didn’t do any of the shooting. Your team leader was Sergeant Nathaniel Frost. How am I doing?”

He looked away briefly and betrayed no emotion. But that was good enough for Vivian. Just to wipe the smile off his face was good enough for her. Eventually, he shook the cigarette a little and let the ash fall onto the deck. 

“Where were you hiding?”

“Pantry,” Vivian finished the scotch in her cup. It burned going down but settled warmly in her stomach. “Those young women were my friends.”

“Yeah?” Steele said, holding the cigarette between his lips as he readjusted into a normal sitting posture. “Then  _ fuck  _ your friends. Yeah? Because they had guns and one of’em tried to light us up. ROE declared that room hostile so don’t try to pull that on me.” 

Clearly agitated, he growled and shook his head. He stubbed the cigarette out on Vivian’s desk, sparks flying around his fingers. “Fuck am I ever doing here?”

“You’re going to tell me about Jack the Ripper What he’s like, what he did, what kind of atrocities he committed on Skopje, just how brutal he really was, and how much of the rumors are true.”

Steele yanked a cigarette pack out from his pocket, tapped another out, lit it, and began smoking again. He seemed darker all of a sudden, brooding and angry. When he looked up at her, his blue eyes were very cold. 

“And why would I do that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Nothing I’m going to say is going to change your mind. You’ve got this preconceived notion in your head about him, anyways. And besides, you wouldn’t understand what happened on Skopje.”

“I wouldn’t understand or you’re trying to cover up the atrocities Frost committed. I’m sure the 89 th as a whole committed numerous war crimes while they were stationed on the planet. For all I know, you’re just hiding things.”

Steele stared at her, long and hard. Eventually, he slowly removed the cigarette from his lips and pointed at her with it.

“If you want to hear anything from me, I recommend a kinder tone, otherwise I’m about to walk back out that door and you won’t have anything.”

“So you  _ are  _ willing to talk? What about your loyalty?” Vivian scoffed and shook his head. “How could ever be loyal to someone like that?”

Steele regarded her blankly for a few minutes. For a moment, Vivian though he was going to sling one more insult before leaving. Instead, he tapped his cigarette again and some ash fell. He pointed at her with the cigarette.

“I could tell you the how’s and why’s, but that won’t be juicy enough for you. You want Skopje, I’ll tell you a little story about why I will always be loyal to that man.” He leaned back, crossed his legs, and took a long drag. “What I’m about to tell you is a clandestine ONI-op, so you didn’t hear it from me. We got sent back to Skopje, Frost and I, in 2539 for a HVT hit. Target’s name was Herbert Parks.”

“Mr. Parks? He was my third grade teacher!” Vivian exclaimed in shock. “He was considered one of the best primary school teachers in the system. You’re telling me he was an Innie?”

“He was in charge of the rebels on Skopje. Man was a fuckin’ sadist; snatching Army officers, torturing them for intel, killing them in brutal ways. See, he and a lot of his followers survived the initial op and were able to rebuild their base in the old mine up in the mountain. ONI wanted a more surgical option this time and rather than drop a big fuck-off bomb on the place, they decided to send in a sniper team instead. The 89 th was training in a nearby sector for a new offensive and they wanted people who knew the terrain. They also wanted the 89 th ’s best shot and you’re looking at him. Frost went with me. We inserted via HALO jump.”

  
  


Steele breathed deeply and checked his altimeter one last time. He checked his gear; he was wearing standard, olive drab M52B body armor but he wore MARPAT pattern winter BDUs. He felt bulky. Beside him, Frost made sure his oxygen mask was on tight. Although the Pelican cabin was pressurized, they were going to be dropping from thirty-thousand feet; oxygen was required. Just ahead of them, the crew chief waited by the door. Across from him was the Jumpmaster. Above him, two bulbs were off. Towards the front of the cabin was a dull red light that cast their shadows in eerie, erratic ways. At his feet was a large metal tube with its own harness. 

“Thirty seconds to drop zone,” the pilot said over the comms. One of the bulbs by the hatch flashed on to a bright red. 

“Red is on, red is on,” the Jumpaster said, then turned to the two Marines. “Hey, try to bring the M99 back in one piece. Thing costs a lot of creds.”

“You wanna carry it?” Steele asked him. The crew chief snickered and waved him off. 

“Fifteen seconds, opening rear hatch.”

Frost and Steele went on either side of the metal tube and grabbed hold of it. The cabin depressurized and a howling wind filled the Pelican and they were blasted with snowflakes. After a moment, the Jumpmaster stepped into the hatch, checked it over with his hands, and leaned out slightly. Then he stepped back by the light. “Five seconds.”

A moment later the green light turned.

“Green is on, green is on!”

“Go!”

Steele and Frost pushed with all their might. The tube flew into the darkness and they were right behind it. Buffeted by wind and snowflakes, the sniper lifted his legs slightly and spread out his arms. Then, he straightened out, clamped his arms by his sides, and pointed himself dowards. Craning his neck, he saw the nav-marker for the tube descend. Beside the blue diamond on his HUD piece was a dwindling number of meters. Falling through clouds, he could see Frost mirroring his own maneuvers. Below, Skopje’s mountain landscape took shape. It was dark but white snow blanketed the world. Once he was through the cloud barrier, he could see somewhat better. But he knew they were dropping through a blizzard and conditions on the ground would be bad.

They plummeted towards the ground. The altimeter began beeping. Steele checked it, waited for the continuous tone, and then yanked the ripcord. A brief delay followed by a fluttering of canvas and then a heavy jerk. Grabbing the handles, he directed himself towards the DZ which was now highlighted by a separate nav-marker. As he approached, he braced and was able to land on his feet. But the snow was deep and the wind carried his parachute forward. Steele face-planted into the snow. 

Getting back up, snow sliding off his goggles, he yanked on the cords and yanked his parachute back to him. Nearby, he could see Frost doing the same in the winter winds. Regrouping, they found a good spot underneath a fallen tree where the snow hadn’t accumulated as much. They stuffed their parachutes underneath it and then covered it with snow. 

“Motion trackers clear,” Frost said over the TEAMCOM. The wind was too loud for them to be heard just by speaking normally. “Slingshot this is Dagger One Alpha, successful jump. Pushing to the crate and then to the ORP, over.”

“Dagger One Alpha, Slingshot Three, solid copy. Bouncer Three is RTB, Archer Two is on standby. Slingshot out.”

Steele scanned the environment with the BR55’s scope. The blizzard was picking up; the winds were ferocious and whipped snow everywhere. All the trees swayed and bent so far he thought they would snap. All the vegetation was buried. Only a few logs and sticks poked out from the snow layer. Frost tapped him on the shoulder and led the way. They pushed about one hundred meters up the gradient they landed on and found the metal tube. It was suspended in a low-hanging tree branch. Reaching up, Steele held the chute so it wouldn’t blow away while Frost cut the cords with his KA-BAR knife. While the sniper buried it, Frost opened up the tube. Taking off their jump goggles and flicking back their blue HUD eyepieces, they pulled out the night vision goggles and attached them to their helmet mounts. A moment later and the world was illuminated in dull green. 

Frost pulled out the long, heavy bag containing the M99. Briefly, he unzipped and checked it over. 

“Good to go,” he said. Steele turned around, showing his back to his friend. Frost proceeded to throw the strap around him. “I’ll take point; we have to climb up another kilometer.”

“I’d like to me those Air Force SR blokes. They said it’d be a light snow. Where did this blizzard come from?”

“Now, now,” Frost said like a withering grandmother, “let’s not get angry at our Air Force friends especially on such a pleasant evening.”

From then on, it was a silent ascent. They were forced to move very slowly. All the snow was deep and some parts were as packed as tightly as others. More than once, the one of the pair sank and the other had to dig him out. Thankfully, the snow flattened the scrub so it wasn’t like their previous foray on Skopje in which they needed to cut and push their way through the hedges. After nearly twenty-five minutes, Steele was huffing and puffing. Frost was faring only a little better than him. Multiple times, they both had to stop to catch their breath. A fresh layer of thick snow hadn’t settled yet and they waded through it as if it was waist-deep water. 

Periodically, Steele looked over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed. ONI intel indicated the Insurrectionist presence, while substantial, was limited mostly to their reconstruction efforts. Patrols in the forest were scarce. Still, even the most basic patrolman knew they needed to check their six. When he looked back, Frost was able to push a few meters further. Just as Steele began to close the distance, his team leader tripped.

“I’m coming.”

By the time he reached him, Frost was on his knees and couldn’t help but laugh.

“Bro, I tripped, I’m good.”

“On what?”

Frost got to his feet and looked down. Steele’s voice caught in his throat as he realized there were two faces looking up at him. Two teenage boys, their skin gray and blue, lay side by side. Their shoulders were pressed together. Each one had a small bullet hole in their forehead and the back of their skulls were missing, indicating it was a point-blank shot. It looked like execution style kills. Upon close inspection, Steele noticed their wrists were chewed up by rope or some other material. 

For a time, the two Marines stared down at the two boys. One was brown haired and the other blonde. Neither looked like they were close to finishing high school. 

“Babes in the woods,” Frost murmured over the TEAMCOM. “C’mon, Lou, let’s keep moving.” Frost said and pressed on. His voice was unchanged. Overcoming the shock, Steele resumed following his friend. This time, he kept closer to him. Frost checked the UGPS attached to his left wrist. “About seven hundred fifty meters to go.”

For a long time, they were both quiet. A few times, they stopped and hunkered down after one of them spotted what appeared to be human movement on the slope. Crouching and raising their weapons, they waited for the potential hostile to come into view. Steele knew Frost would have to do the majority of the shooting; he was equipped with an MA5B assault rifle with a sound suppressed attached to the barrel. For extra firepower, the underbarrel was a forty millimeter grenade launcher. On the left a flashlight was mounted and on the right an IR laser. He would watch the beam settle on the target. Each time, the wind would abate and reveal the shape, either a swinging branch or a trembling shrub. Both Marines would rise and continue climbing up the mountainside. 

Eventually, they came to another stop to catch their breath. “We’re not going to make the ORP in time. We might be shooting in daylight.”

“Fuck that, we’ll make it,” Steele said and kept walking. Seeing his friend resuming the march, Frost joined him. “Bloody freezing.”

“I’m good,” Frost said in a smug tone.

Steele rolled his eyes. He knew his friend was only joking but that didn’t make it any less annoying when he made equips like that. Nothing was more bothersome when someone voiced their discontent only for their companion to voice how comfortable they were. “C’mon, don’t you like the cold too?” Frost asked, sensing Steele’s annoyance. “Don’t you get this weather in whatever miserable country you’re friend?”

“Wet and cold,” Steele muttered.

“Just cold where I’m from.”

“The  _ worst  _ kind of pussy.”

That made Frost snicker.

“Maybe we’ll get three weeks leave on Earth if we pull this off. Let’s go to California, Grant seems to think it’s nice.”

“He’s from there; he’s biased. Let’s go to Italy or somewhere like that.”

“Not a big fan of pasta.”

“We wouldn’t be going there for the pasta.”

Another hour passed. Sometimes, the mountainside was nothing more than a gentle slope. However, the terrain seemed to shift every fifty or sixty meters. After a flatter or softer area, they would have to scale a small bluff or scrambled over a ridge. By the time they were within a hundred meters of the ORP, it seemed like they were climbing straight up. Gasping for air, Steele pulled himself up, gripping jagged rock fixtures as if he was traversing a rock-climbing wall. Suddenly, Frost disappeared in front of him. A moment later, he popped back and reached down. Steele took his hand and together they threw themselves onto flatter ground.

Finding the terrain more agreeable, they walked briskly through the blizzard. The winds were dying down and the snowfall was abating somewhat. But the woods around them were becoming more dense. Tall bushes and shorter trees barred their path; some they could push through, others they had to skirt around. Frost kept checking the UGPS every so often and then began to slow down. 

“We’re here.” They found themselves in a tight clearing within a circle of trees. One had fallen and its evergreen branches created a small ceiling. Here, the snow coverage was very light and Steele could actually see dirt in a few spots. The two Marines dropped a great deal of their excess gear here. Frost got on the radio. “Slingshot, this is Dagger One Alpha. We’ve reached the ORP. Over.”

“Solid copy Dagger One Alpha, push to your firing position.”

Steele shouldered his BR55 and carried the M99 in its bag. Frost led the way. Exiting from their concealed position, they found themselves back in the dying blizzard. However, the new position was only eighty meters away from the ORP. Again, Frost slowed down and then came to a complete stop. 

“We’re here.”

“I can’t see shit,” Steele said. 

“This can’t be right. The coordinates must be bugged, we can’t be anywhere close to the summit.”

Just as the words left his mouth, the wind died down even further. A flurry of snowflakes parted. The two Marines found themselves standing less than a meter away from the edge of a massive pit. In the expansive mining complex below, the lights of multiple huts, barracks, and houses were blazing. Guard towers lined the perimeter, sandbag and gun positions covered the roads, and numerous Insurrectionists in piecemeal armor and with second-rate weapons patrolled the grounds. For a few moments, the two Marines stood and stared dumbly, then got down. 

“Think anybody spotted us?”

“No, the alarm would be on,” Frost said. “Jesus, we almost walked into it.”

Steele looked around. The actual firing position was on a slab of stone about five meters back from the edge of the pit mine’s edge. Its elevation would allow them to look down at the mine itself with the benefit of concealment; many scrub bushes grew thickly around the rock. They climbed onto it and finally unzipped the carrier. Steele erected the bipod, laid down, and began zeroing the sights. Frost knelt beside him, procured a gray-white sheet from his kit, and covered Steele with it. Then, he began studying the area with his binoculars. He lowered them and grabbed the radio. “Slingshot, Dagger One Alpha. We’ve reached our firing position. Holding for further orders. Out.”


	30. Chapter 30

Steele awoke to Frost shaking him by the shoulder. Groggily, he lifted his head from his forearms and looked up. Snow slid off the sheet the two marksmen were under. Some of it slid down his face and down his balaclava. After yawning and clearing his throat, he looked at Frost. His team leader was already gazing back at the mine with his binoculars. It was still dark out and the snowstorm was over but Steele woke up when he saw it was 0430 hours. Dawn was coming soon. 

“You were supposed to wake me up at oh-three-thirty.”

“I took your watch. Need my sniper wide-awake for the shot.”

“Next time, wake me up.”

“Unh-huh,” Frost said, his tone disinterested as he continued scanning the grounds below. Steele wrapped his hand around the grip of the M99, pressed the stock into his shoulder, ensured the sights were zeroed, and then peered through the scope. In the base below, Insurrectionists were still following their patrol patterns. Sympathetic civilian workers were also out but not with the same numbers as before. Since the wind died down, they could hear the clanking machinery within the production plant and could see trucks rumbling into and out of the tunnels. 

Frost lowered his binoculars down and shook his head. “They should blast this place from orbit. If sending in infantry didn’t work the first time, why do they think sending in two dudes for a hit will make a difference?”

“There are civvies down there, man.”

“They’re not slaves, Lou. They’re devoted to the Innie cause,” Frost growled. A moment later, he sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Did you already set up the trap?”

Steele already knew the answers but asked anyways. He didn’t want his friend to ruminate on their previous incursions on Skopje. 

“Check.”

The ORP was well hidden but it was possible patrols could find it if they came out of the mine. With the storm gone, it was very likely they would send out patrols. If anyone stumbled upon their gear stashed at the ORP would probably pick up one of the rucksacks. When they did, they would activate an explosive charge they planted. It was simple, rudimentary, old school, and effective. 

Frost put down the binoculars, reached into a pocket, and pulled out an MRE packet. Lowering his balaclava, he tore it open with his teeth and tore open a corner piece of the maple bar inside. He reached over to Steele. The sniper pulled down his own mask, took the chunk, and popped it into his mouth. His friend broke off another piece and ate it. Compared to some other rations, the bar tasted quite good. At first it seemed dry and stale, but the moment the crumbs mixed with saliva it became very sweet and satisfying to eat. 

Just as Frost broke off another piece, they both heard something in the distance. The team leader raised his binoculars. “Convoy. Five M12’s, no weapon mounts, escorting three tractor units.”

“Eyes on the HVT?”

“Negative.”

Steele finished the piece he was eating and looked down the scope again. He confirmed the presence of the convoy, descending down the earthen road that ran from the top of the mine, down the walls, and into the pit below. Each of the captured M12 Warthogs were packed with troops clad in piecemeal armor and toting outdated weapons. Others carried captured Army equipment; brown, white, and olive drab M52B armor pieces and MA37 assault rifles.

“Motherfuckers,” he growled through gritted teeth.

“Stay focused.”

Following the convoy with his scope, he watched the vehicles drive to the center of the compound and park. Engines were shut off and the personnel dismounted. Many of the people already walking around hurried over to the convoy. Some came out of buildings; these were civilian types. Women and children were among them. Everybody seemed excited. One of the women, a middle-aged one with long brown hair, approached the lead M12. Her hair was blowing all around her face. A man with a wide face, a black mustache, and receding hairline approach her. He was wearing M52B body armor over a white parka and blue jeans. 

“Lead M12, driver’s side. Possible HVT,” Steele said and flicked the safety off.

“Confirming,” Frost said. A few moments passed. “Yeah, that’s him. I’m calling it in. Slingshot, Dagger One Alpha, we have PID on target. Permission to engage, over.”

“Dagger One Alpha, Slingshot, roger. You are cleared to engage. Over.”

“Good to go,” Frost said. He looked into the spotting scope and began adjusting. “Distance to target: eight-niner-niner. Wind: east to west, low value.” Steele made adjustments to his scope. He centered the reticle on the target’s chest. On scope.”

“Tally.”

“Send it.”

Steele squeezed the trigger and the rifle shuddered. A second later, the target’s chest blew wide open and he was thrown back against the side of the vehicle. Blood splattered the hull, snow, and the woman who was in front of him. The body convulsed for a split second and then grew very still. For a few moments, everyone who was standing around the body stared at it. Then, there was screaming. The woman knelt and put her hands on the man’s oozing, sucking, bloody chest. Somebody ran up and carried away. Mothers carried away their sobbing, terrified children. Rebel soldiers took cover and a few even fired in a few directions they though the shot came from. 

Frost whistled. “Hit. That was a good fucking shot,” he said and then put away the spotting scope. Steele said nothing, confident in his own abilities. Flipping to a new page in his DOPE book, he recovered the range, environment, weather, and successful shot in a few numbers and words. “Slingshot, Dagger One Alpha, target is eliminated. Over.”

“Roger Dagger One Alpha, dispatching Archer Two. Proceed to EZ and await extraction. Out.”

Steele packed up the rifle and the pair slid off the rock. They left nothing behind, even the MRE packets. Slipping back to the ORP, they crouched down to pick up their gear. Frost was just about to disarm the explosive trap when a fusillade of automatic fire tore through the trees right over their heads. Throwing himself to the ground, Steele crawled behind a fallen log while Frost took cover behind a rock. Before either of them could speak, they heard a megaphone crackle. 

“This is Brendan Hunt,” a loud voice boomed. “You UNSC pigs might think you’ve dealt a blow here today but we are the Insurrection. We will  _ never  _ give up, no matter how many of us you kill.”

Steele looked at Frost’s bewildered expression and smiled.

“You think this asshole took acting classes or just likes the sound of his own voice?” he whispered.

“How the fuck did he know where we are?” the team leader hissed.

“I’m giving you one chance to give yourselves up,” the Insurrectionist shouted. “You’re outnumbered and outgunned. You have ten seconds.”

Again, Steele looked at Frost. The Marine pursed his lips and shook his head. So the sniper got up and fired three bursts from his BR55. Then, he threw the M99 on top of the bundle and followed Frost as they sprinted west along the mountainside. Behind them, they heard the Insurrectionist laugh through the megaphone. “Have it your way, UNSC!”

Sprinting at full tilt, the snow-caked trees were nothing but white blurs. The pair thundered along, weaving between tree trunks and large drifts of snow, leaping over logs and low rocks. Before long, Steele’s throat was burning from the cold air. Both of them were sucking for air as they ran under their ammo and armor load. But they kept going. Behind them, there was an explosion. They knew the rebels discovered the ORP and fell for the trap. 

“They were closer than we fucking thought!” Steele shouted.

“Shut up and keep running!”

Behind him, Steele heard gunfire. Hunching as if he was running through rain, bullets smacked into tree trunks, nicked off leaves and tree branches, hammered rocks, and kicked up clouds of smoke. Bullets whizzed and snapped by his head. There was no order to how the enemy was shooting; they were running and spraying the entire environment. Dawn was arriving and the world was lighting up around them. Daring to look over his shoulder, Steele spotted yellow muzzle flashes and saw the red tracers flying by. But he couldn’t see the gunmen who were chasing them. Everything was sped up, his blood was bumping, his veins filled with adrenaline. 

Suddenly, he heard whistling. A mortar shell fell fifty meters away. Another whistle and another explosion, this time a few meters behind him. Heavier automatic weapons opened up. A rocket flew by and smashed into a tree thirty meters ahead of them. The trunk burst in a flash, sending thousands of splinters in every direction. Cracking, the tree toppled over and bounced onto the ground. Snow flew everywhere and stung his cheeks. Looking down, Steele saw a few finger-sized pieces of bark embedded in his forearm. He didn’t feel anything.

More mortar shells fell around them, spraying them with snow and earth so dark it looked black. Bullets continued to rake the landscape. More rockets flew overhead. One cut through the branches, raining them down on the two fleeing Marines. It finally exploded against a larger branch over Frost, who was charging ahead of Steele. Although he avoided injury, the blowback from the blast sent him rolling onto the ground. As he struggled to get up, Steele stopped, turned, and fired several bursts from his BR55. 

A mortar shell landed nearby and covered him with dark earth. 

“Jesus Christ, there’s only two of us, you’re wasting a  _ lot  _ of ordinance!” Steele shouted at the enemy, exasperated. He knew they could hear him. He felt Frost grab his upper arm and pull him along. So much enemy fire was trained on them they couldn’t move more than a few paces at a time. 

“Archer Two, this is Dagger One Actual, where are you!?” he shouted. “We are  _ heavily  _ outnumbered and require immediate air support!”

“Dagger One Actual, Archer Two. We are five mikes out from the EZ, over.”

“Lot of fucking good they are,” Frost slid behind a tree. Steele took cover behind one across from him. “Lou, I’m going to lay down suppressive fire! Move about fifty yards, then halt and cover me. We’ll keep doubling back like that! I fire, you move, you fire, I move! Check?”

“Check!”

“Go!”

Frost aimed his MA5B and began squeezing off bursts. The sound suppressor went  _ thunk-thunk-thunk  _ with each one. Steele bounded along, flipping his blue HUD piece back over his eye. Watching the distance monitor, he hit fifty yards, took cover behind a rock. 

“Go!” he yelled over the TEAMCOM and began firing at muzzle flashes. He could see dozens of yellow muzzle flashes and the enemy were so close he could hear them shouting to one another. So much snow and dirt was spraying everywhere in the mountain forest he almost couldn’t see Frost. When he did, the Marine ran by him, took cover, and began laying down cover fire. The pair went on like this, edging closer to the EZ. 

When they were about a hundred meters away, it was Steele’s turn to run. He was almost to his mark, a fallen log, when he felt a heavy impact in the back of his left thigh. An incredible, burning heat spread over it and he fell over. Grunting and groaning, he managed to crawl over the log and take cover. Turning onto his side, he reached town, found a wet hole in his trousers, and stuck his finger through it. He winced, as his whole thigh felt tender, and then he groaned as his finger found the entry wound and slid into his flesh. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he shouted, more out of anger than pain. 

Frost vaulted over the long and inspected the wound. “They shot me, Nate! Can you fucking believe that, those assholes shot me!”

There was no time to administer first aid. Steele moaned as Frost picked up a handful of dirt and pressed it into the wound. Then, he helped Steele to his feet. Leaning on his friend, Steele shouldered his BR55 and drew his M6E. Together, they hobbled along. The volume of enemy fire was increasing; more automatic weapons, more mortars, and more rockets. Every little movement sent pain up Steele’s leg. Bullets ripped bark from the tree trunks and they cut his balaclava and face. One heavy caliber bullet smashed into a trunk and Frost’s face was peppered with wood shrapnel. Despite blood running down his face, he kept going. 

So much fire was being directed on them Steele could feel bullets flying through his pants. He looked back at Frost. His left bicep was drenched in blood. “Nate, you’re hit.”

“I know.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“ _ I know _ .”

Steele heard the report of the rocket. Something about it sounded strange. Without thinking, he dragged Frost to the ground. The rocket flew right over their heads and smashed directly into a tree ahead of them. Again, the trunk exploded and sent splinters everywhere. Steele covered his face and felt half a dozen little impacts on his forearm and the back of his hand. He heard snapping and looked up. Twisting off its stump, the tree began to fall right towards him. Just in time, Steele scrambled out of the way as it fell right where he was laying down. Without skipping a beat, Frost vaulted over the tree and picked Steele back up. They moved forward about ten meters before the velocity of fire forced them to take cover behind a rock. 

“They’re close, man,” Steele said, catching his breath. Frost’s face was drawn in determination despite the blood seeping down it. He emptied a magazine and ducked back down. While he reloaded, Steele fired a few shots from his M6E. When he ducked down to reload, he found Frost holding a grenade. But he hadn’t pulled the pin yet. 

“Just in case,’ Frost said in an empty voice. His gray eyes looked like misty clouds or fog. 

“Not happening,” Steele said, swiping the grenade from his hand. He yanked the pin out and lobbed it. M9 fragmentation grenades didn’t make huge explosions, they made a deep  _ thump  _ sound accompanied by a brief flash. Dirt and smoke flew everywhere along with shrapnel. He heard screaming in the trees. 

“Archer Two, Dagger One Actual! We are fifty meters out from the EZ, over!”

“Dagger One Actual, Archer Two, one mike out.”

“C’mon Lou, home stretch!” Frost yelled enthusiastically, picking up his friend. Steele wrapped his arm around him and hobbled as fast as he could. The tree density decreased and soon they broke from the tree line. About thirty meters of an exposed cliff edge lay before them. The only covered they could find was a larger boulder near the edge. Squatting down behind it, the two Marines took up their rifles and began firing at the enemy. In the distance, he could hear the  _ chop-chop-chop  _ of UH144’s. Looking south, he saw them come into view; two UH144’s with the gunners hanging out of the side and a Pelican. 

Immediately, the three aircraft began hitting the tree line with automatic fire. Some of the pressure on the two Marines was alleviated. But as the Pelican turned around and began its descent, a missile soared from the tree line and hit one of the UH144’s in the tail rotor. The gunners were thrown out of the interior and the aircraft spiraled out of control. It proceeded to smash into the tree line. 

“MANPADS!” Frost shouted. “Archer Two, be advised, be advised, enemy has—” Another missile soared out and hit the other UH144 right on the nose. The cockpit exploded and the craft plummeted down below the cliff. 

“Dagger One Actual, we’re coming in!” the pilot of the Pelican shouted. 

Steele jumped to his feet with Frost’s help. They began racing for the Pelican. The crew chief pushed his weapon aside and began waving at them. Suddenly, he froze for a moment, shouted back into the Pelican, and then waved his hand. Before either Marine could react, a missile struck the Pelican. An explosion ripped off the stern and a fire broke out in the passenger compartment. Steele was thrown backwards and felt the heat from the explosion prick his exposed skin. When he managed to look up, his ears ringing, he watched the burning aircraft spiral to the left and out of sight. 

He looked at Frost. The team leader lobbed the last of his grenades, buying crucial time, and then ran to the edge. After he looked over the side, he grabbed Steele.

“What’s the plan?” Steele asked when he got onto his feet.

“Jump!”

Steele looked over the side even though bullets were hitting the ground around him and flying around his head. It felt like a long time but in reality it was a matter of seconds. Below, there were huge snow drifts at the bottom of the cliff. 

“Bruv, that ain’t enough to break our fall!”

“It’s either break our bones or get captured, tortured and executed!”

“You make a really fucking convincing argument,” Steele admitted. 

“Trust me. We go on three.” Steele looked over his shoulder. Behind them, rebels began to emerge from the tree line, clad in white snow suits and wearing body armor. There were hundreds of them. He looked back down. There was no telling how far that was but it was far enough that survival was not a guarantee. “One, two, three!”

  
  


* * *

Vivian stared at Steele. His cigarette had long burned away. He was staring down at his feet, his blue eyes very wide, and his mouth slightly open. The expression in his eyes was very distant and shocked. It was an expression Vivian was altogether too familiar with, many times having caught herself in a mirror with a similar face. Although she had no empathy for the man in front of him, she decided not to interrupt his thoughts and allowed him to recover on his own accord. Out of respect, not sympathy. 

Eventually, he cleared his throat and sat back.

“It was one of the few times in my life I thought I was actually going to die. The feeling is very strange. Not fear but...” his eyes moved a little, as if all the words were in front of him and he was searching for the right ones. “...disappointment. Like losing a game or getting caught by someone. Like, the jig is up.”

He shook his head, lit another cigarette, and took a long drag. “Those Innies were  _ fucking  _ persistent, I tell yer. They must have really loved that guy.”

“Herbert Parks was the most popular and beloved primary school teacher in the Lionel City education system. He contributed a lot to curriculum reform; he was warm and caring, always made time for a student, and didn’t tolerate any bullying. He made kids feel like they were special.”

Steele stared at her indifferently. “The woman who was near him was his wife, I think.”

“I don’t care who it was, the guy was a war criminal.”

“So you don’t feel any remorse for shooting a man in front of his wife?”

“I don’t feel a goddamn thing,” Steele said with a sinister grin. “I’m a trigger man. UNSC gave me a rifle and that’s all I want to do: shoot. I could give less of a shit about the flag or the politics. All I want is a combat load and a full field of fire. Whatever the Corps tells me to kill, I kill it.”

“What about innocent civilians or Insurrectionist prisoners?”

“And there ya go, rattling off on shit you don’t know anything about,” Steele said, shaking his head. He took a few lengthy drags on his cigarette and released a thin gray cloud which hung above his head for a few moments. “Look lady, we did what we had to do to survive. That’s what anybody would do. Fine ideals, principles, morals, that stuff gets you killed.” His eyes grew distant again, though. “What happened on Skopje, the first time, there were a lot of...people caught in the crossfire.”

Steele shook his head. “That’s not what we’re talking about, Captain.”

“You’re right,” Vivian admitted. “You and Frost are both still alive. What happened next?”

“We hit pretty hard even though the drifts were deep. Well, I landed in one that was more shallow. I broke both my legs, a bunch of toes, my left hand, four ribs, dislocated my right shoulder, and messed up my back pretty badly. Turns out when I jumped, I got two bullets in my lower back that just missed my spinal cord. I lost consciousness on impact.”

“Frost?”

“Landed in a deeper drift. Smashed up both ankles, part of his collarbone, and his left shoulder was screwed up too. His left arm was burned, too. He woke up first.”

  
  


* * *

Frost gasped as he woke up. His entire body felt like it was on fire. The slightest movement sent waves of pain up and down his chest. His ankles felt like bags of jagged, crushed up glass. He didn’t even have to look at them to know that. The right ankle was definitely broken but the left felt more strange; it hurt, but not as badly. More so, it felt twisted and out of place. Everything in his upper body hurt especially. As he struggled to sit up, he realized the explosion from the Pelican and sheared away all the layers he wore on his left arm. It was exposed and burned very badly. The snow stung the exposed skin. 

Finally able to sit up, he looked around. The destroyed Pelican was nearby and was burning. Its orange glow seemed to glitter in his partially blurry vision. As he blinked, he saw another form in the snow bank across from him. Limp, blackened, and partially covered with snow, Steele lay in the cold and didn't move.

“Lou?” he called quietly. “Louis?”   


There was no response. Frost swallowed hard. “Louie?”

Dragging himself out of the snow with great effort and pain, Frost crawled across the ground towards his friend. As he did, he took off a lot of the gear he was wearing. Most of his body armor pieces were shot up badly and useless. Most of his pouches were torn up and the vest was in tatters. All of it was excess weight and he dropped as much as he could. All he had was his KA-BAR knife and his pistol, although he only found one magazine for it. 

Covering the ten feet in between them took much of his energy. Frost was out of breath by the time he clawed his way over to him. Sitting up, he picked up Steele’s head and placed it on his lap. “Come on Lou,” he said, shaking him slightly. “Wake up. Come on, man, this isn’t funny. Lou? Please, come on, man. Don’t go, please don’t go, not right now, I don’t want to be alone, Lou. We gotta go, Louie, we need to leave. Wake up, man...”

Steele’s eyelids fluttered. Frost blinked away the tears welling up his eyes. Coughing, the sniper’s eyes popped and he gasped for air. Gasping himself, Frost ran his hand over his face. “Goddamn it man, I thought you were dead!”

“So did I...” Steele muttered. Still sitting, Frost pulled his friend from the bank of snow. Both Marines groaned from the pain. When he was free, Steele’s legs looked very bad. They were covered in blood, the pants were shredded, and they were limp in an irregular way. Steele stared at them for a few minutes, then groaned and let his head fall into Frost’s lap. “...awww  _ fuck _ , we picked the wrong day to go on a mission, Nate.”

“You’ve been shot, dude.” Frost was feeling him all over for wounds and found two bullets holes on his lower back. He searched both himself and Steele for their first aid kits but those were gone. Instead, he picked up dirt and packed it into Steele’s wounds. The sniper moaned from the pain and slammed his right hand on the ground.

“Why did you do that!? That hurt!”

“Shh, they might still be around.”

“I’m already busted up and now you’re hurting me, stop!”

“I had to hurt you to stop the blood flow, I’m sorry man, I’m really sorry.”

“God! Don’t do it again, man.” Steele settled down and shook his head. “My back really hurts, Nate.”

“I know, we’re going to get out of here.” Frost put a finger to his helmet’s earpiece. “Slingshot, Dagger One Actual...Slingshot, Dagger One Actual...static man, just fucking static.”

“Bugger.” Steele winced and drew a long, sharp, trembling breath. Frost looked down at him. Steele reached up with his one good hand and clutched Frost’s collar. “I gotta get out of here, I think I’m gonna die.”

Frost’s heart rate sped up. He looked up and around. Dawn was blooming and the sky was a radiant swath of warm colors. But below them, the mountainside and the sprawling valley leading back to Lionel City seemed even longer and wider than before. It was fourteen miles from their position to get back to the city’s Army garrison where they were stationed. Comms were down, first aid was a no go, his ankles were broken, and Steele was dying.

“Okay, okay...” Frost murmured, his voice shaking. He took off his helmet and pulled down his balaclava, which was shredded anyways. He took off Steele’s two, exposing his thick crop of golden blonde hair. “I’m going to pick you up. This is really going to hurt.”

“Gimme a sec, just gimme a sec...okay.”

Frost changed positions and helped Steele up. The sniper’s pain was so great that tears rolled down his cheeks. Both of them were wet, burned, shot, bloody, and filthy with dirt. It must have been a pitiful sight to see two broken men trying to pick themselves up. Frost knew he couldn’t drag him. Pain shooting up his legs and burning in his feet, crying out in agony, his vision going black, Frost suddenly found himself on his feet. He was carrying Steele piggy-back style and the weight the sniper placed on his shoulder was awful. Teetering a little, Frost suddenly felt a burst of strength and took the first, painful step. 

“Okay, here we go, Louie. We’re going home.”

Steele didn’t reply, merely nodded and wrapped his arm around Frost’s chest, clutching his shirt in his grasp. Frost took one painful step after the other, gritting his teeth and moaning with each one. As he went on, it became harder to walk but he was able to pick up the pace. He was suffering from tunnel vision and the weight on his back forced him to look down on the ground. All he could see were his two busted up feet. With each step, a little bit of blood leaked out of his torn book on his left foot. He waded through the snow which became shallower and shallower. 

Sometimes he would blink and it took a very long time to open his eyes again. But he was still moving. The environment around him began to change. First, he saw the uneven slopes and trees of the mountainside. His eyes closed, and then opened. He found himself on steadily flattening ground; there was less snow and foliage around him. His eyes closed, and then opened again. High grass and low snow levels surrounded him. Something was telling him to keep pushing in this direction, but his mind was so paralyzed with pain that all he could truly focus on was keeping himself from falling over.

His boots stopped crunching in the snow. Opening his eyes, he saw the snow levels were low, barely coming up to his ankles. All around him was knee and waist-high grass, waving in the gentle, icy winds. He knew this area, he’d trekked it before. It was a trail that hikers and campers used. Yes, he saw it on the map! This would take him on a direct line to Lionel City. Smiling, Frost tried to speak to Steele but all he did was mumble. He couldn’t even make himself talk. Steele mumbled something back and held onto him tightly. 

Staggering and plodding along, the pain entered a strange paradox. There was simply so much pain that his mind couldn’t comprehend it anymore, so Frost couldn’t feel it. He wasn’t sure if it was his mind and senses playing tricks on him. It didn’t last very long but he pushed himself as hard as he could. Frost knew he was hurting himself by doing so but he didn’t care. Steele’s breathed was becoming more labored and he was moaning with agony. 

Frost’s throat burned. He wanted water so badly. His stomach growled, he was terribly hungry. All he wanted to do was lay down and sleep. Stopping seemed so appealing that multiple times his gait slowed down, down, down. But at that lost moment, he woke himself back up and kept going. Were their people behind him? He thought he heard voices. Perhaps, it was just the birds singing and playing games on him. He felt so incredibly lonely even with Steele on his back. Each time he tried to talk, his voice caught in his throat and he croaked instead. His tongue felt like a rock. The sniper continued to say nothing. His breathing was becoming shallow and unsteady. 

They were both going to die. Frost knew it. He could feel himself dying. Tears streamed down his cheeks, wet and warm. Many times, he tried to apologize to Steele but he couldn’t talk. It was beyond frustrating, it was maddening. All he could hear was his own ragged breathing. Looking to the east, he watched the sun begin to rise higher in the sky. Above the distant mountains, it turned the sky into a radiant orange-pink. Fields of clouds began to glow warmly and the snow covering the plains were tinted with the sky’s color. It was as if earth and sky had melded together. Snow sparkled in the sunlight, as if they were fields of crystals. Frost began to think the sky fell upon him or that he didn’t realize he was walking upwards, and was being lifted skywards. His mind struggled to understand the enormity of what just happened. He was dead. He was gone. He wasn’t scared, just very sad. Images of laughing with his friends in the barracks, hearing his name hollered at roll call, seeing his family lining up at the dinner table. One by one, the faces and the images winked away. All he could see was himself and Steele on his back. Frost felt sorry to have failed his friend but he was happy that he wouldn’t alone during this final adventure.

Screeching tires and a blaring horn made Frost open his eyes. He was still moving, back to a dreadfully slow stagger. But his feet were now on pavement, which was plowed and slushy. People, clad in heavy jackets and knit caps, stared at him from both sides of the roads. Cars pulled to the side and people went out to look at him. A few were filming the two Marines with COM-pads. Looking up, he realized that he was actually  _ in  _ Lionel City. 

Looking back down, his gray eyes wide, he approached a young lady who was walking with a similarly aged man. “Excuse me? Which way is it to Camp Alexander?”

She stared at him for a moment, shocked to see two men who were so bloody and covered in dirt and soot they looked like deranged wanderers than Marines.

“You...you don’t want the hospital?” the lady asked timidly. 

“No, the base.”

“It’s a quarter mile that way, towards the docks. It’s a straight shot there. Do you need help? Can I call you an ambulance, wait, hold on.”

Frost staggered as quickly as he could. He crossed through an intersection despite the green light, forcing all the cars to stop. People yelled at him but he didn’t hear. Gritting his teeth and summoning his last ounces of strength, he pressed on as hard and fast as his broken body would take him. “Come on, come on, come on. Hang on, Louie, almost there!”

Steele just moaned into his back. Oddly, that made Frost laugh. “Quit whining you long range sniper you! We’re going home!”

A few minutes later, he heard wailing sirens. An ambulance tore up the street next to him and braked hair. Both cab doors and the rear doors flung open. Four EMTs climbed out and rushed over. When they tried to take Steele off his back, Frost tried to shoulder them away. “No! Get away! Leave us alone! I gotta get Louie back to base!” The EMTs argued with him, but he resisted and kept moving. Multiple times they tried to stop him or take Steele, but each time he fended them off, roaring and swearing at them. “Gotta get Louie back to base,” he kept saying, “hang on Louie, almost there, almost there!”

Through the blur and commotion of medical personnel and civilians trying to offer what aid they could, Frost finally marched up to the main gates of Camp Alexander. The Army troopers manning the checkpoint lifted the gate and began talking over their radios. Blowing right past them, Frost looked around rabidly for the hospital. Before he discovered it, an M12 and two M274 ATV’s towing larger carts pulled up in front of him, their tires squealing on the pavement. Everyone in the vehicles jumped off and rushed towards him. Personnel from all over base were racing to help. 

The realization he made it back to base finally hit Frost like a gust of wind. All strength left him and he collapsed onto his knees. Numerous hands carried Steele off his back. When the weight was lifted he slumped onto his side and rolled onto his back. He gazed up at the pink-orange sky, smiled, and then everything went dark. 

***

When Frost opened his eyes again, he found the room he was in filled with light. This time, it wasn’t as difficult to open them but his mind felt very foggy. He felt utterly exhausted and barely had the strength to crane his neck. The pillow underneath his head was very soft and he felt very warm. Stiffly, he looked to his left. Sleeping in the cot next to his, within arm’s reach, was Steele. He was covered in bandages and his limbs, covered in casts, were suspended by wires. Heart rate monitors beeped, the instruments around them ticked and  _ whirred _ . Frost looked over his own body. His legs were covered by a blanket so he couldn’t see his ankles. But there was a lot of bracing over his shoulder and collarbone. It didn’t allow him to move but he was not uncomfortable. 

A face appeared; a nurse in dull green scrubs smiled at him. 

“Good morning, Corporal,” she greeted.

“I made it?”

“Yes,” she said with a bit of a laugh. She was young and pretty, but bore herself with a military fashion. He realized she was an Army nurse, not a Navy hospitalman. “Both of you did. I just need you to stay calm and not move, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Frost replied. 

“It’s been a few days, you’ve both been in and out of it. Why don’t I get the doctor and he’ll talk to you, answer all your questions, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”  
As she left, another figure entered the room. Tall, muscular, and broad: it was Colonel Hayes. The larger senior officer leaned over the cot and smiled down at Frost.

“How’re you feeling, son?”

“I can’t feel anything, sir.” Frost cleared his throat a little. It felt dry so he swallowed a little. “Are we out of commission, sir? Are we going to be discharged?”

“Negative on all, Corporal. You’ll both be out of action for a while and you’ll need follow up surgeries and PT before you’re in fighting shape again. Don’t worry, you’ll come back to the unit, you won’t be transferred.” Hayes pulled up a nearby stool and sat down. He folded his arms across his chest. “That was really something you did out there. After the birds and the comms went down, we thought you were dead. Couldn’t believe it when a few hours later you two marched into camp. How in the world did you cross twenty minutes on broken ankles?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Frost replied stoically. Hayes nodded in an understanding way and then stood up.

“I better get out of the doctor’s way. You should know, I put you in for the Gold Star and Steele for the Silver Star. What you did is incredible.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Rest and heal, standing orders.” 

Frost watched him leave. He exhaled a little. Craning his neck, he looked back at Steele. A smile tugged at his lips. The sniper was awake and looked back at him. For a long time, the two friends gazed at one another. There were no words that could be shared, nothing that could describe what either felt. At the same moment, they reached out to one another and held each other’s hand. Tears coursed down their cheeks.

  
  


* * *

Steele stubbed out his cigarette, sniffed, and wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve. It was the first time in many years he thought about that story. 2539 seemed like such a long time ago but he felt as fragile as he did laying in that hospital cot. Taking a breath, he looked up at Captain Waters. Her emerald gaze was hard and nothing more. 

“Do you know what it’s like to be alive because someone  _ suffered  _ for you?” he asked, his voice still choked with emotion. “Not died, didn’t get wounded: suffered. To fade away thinking I was going to die alone and then wake up and see him? Do you get it? I woke up and he was  _ there _ . So that’s why I’ll do any bloody thing for him.”

He stood up, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and cocked his head to the side. Blonde locks swept across his brow. “I never understood selflessness until that day. You might think you have some idea about it, but you don’t. You really,  _ really _ , don’t. Whatever you think about this man, I can tell you with certainty he’s the best. Better than anyone I’ve ever known.”

Steele leaned forward and planted his hands on the edge of her desk. “You ever try anything like you did at the Armory again and I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

Waters smiled at that. 

“I could have you thrown in the brig for a comment like that.”

“Do it. I don’t give a shit. And I’ll you what, you won’t be standing by the time they show up to take me away. Doesn’t matter how it’ll look on my CSV or what kind of cell they’ll put me in. You fuck with him, you’re going to have to deal with me, too. You ain’t getting away with shit, Captain.”

Steele refused to indulge in further conversation with her. He stormed out the door, pounded down the hall, and rode the elevator back down to Zero Deck. Marching down the hall, he didn’t stop until he reached the barracks. He thought their quarters would be empty but instead found Frost sitting on his top bunk. The squad leader was leaning back against his pillow with an issue of  _ STARS  _ in front of him. When he heard Steele’s boots on the deck, he lowered it. 

“Geez, Lou, what crawled up your ass today?”

“Nothing, man,” Steele sighed. He put a cigarette in his mouth but didn’t light it. Instead, he slid into the bunk beneath Frost’s and rested his head on the pillow. For a few minutes, the only sound to be heard was Frost flipping through the pages. After a little while, Steele took the cigarette from his lips. “What did you mean when you said ‘babes in the woods,’ dude?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“2539, the Skopje op, the two dead kids.”

A beat passed.

“Oh...oh yeah. I remember now. Man, that was one hell of a ride. Why’s that on your mind?”

“Just answer the bloody question.”

“It was the name given to some unsolved child murders back in the 20 th Century. Multiple cases, but seeing the bodies like that reminded me of the deaths in Stanley Park in Vancouver around the 1950s. Two unidentified boys who never got a chance to grow up. That’s sad, ain’t it Lou?”

“Yeah,” was all Steele said as he lit another cigarette.


	31. Chapter 31

“It’s strange those injuries don’t appear in detail in his medical records,” Jasmine said, her eyes running back across her terminal screen. On it was Frost’s long Career Service Vitae. On it were all the battles he ever served in, one of which was Skopje, his awards, promotion dates, training, and badges. His picture had not been updated recently, so a sixteen year version of the Marine smiled back at her. 

She fixed her glasses as they began to slide down her nose. “No specifics, just a line that reads, ‘suffered grievous wounds in 2539.’ Still, I can only imagine the amount of corrective surgery required. With every step he took he was damaging his feet and ankles even further. Adrenaline probably had a lot to do with it as well as his training.”

Moving her cursor back to the top of the page, she prepared to hit the exit key. Again, she looked at a younger Frost’s smiling face. Although he was less weathered, the smile remained the same: sad, boyish, and youthful. For a moment, she stared at the photograph and tried to imagine the pain he endured. The thought made her stomach wrench as if she would vomit and pain coursed throughout her legs. But the longer she thought about it, the more her mind was drawn to the war. Frost and Steele almost died on a mission that was irrelevant when compared to the Covenant threat. Millions, perhaps billions, were dying every day across the Colonies and UNSC High Command sent these two leathernecks on a clandestine assassination mission. What was achieved? Better security for the titanium mines and shipbuilding yards on Skopje? The UNSC wasn’t hurting for either yet. If they died, what would it have been for?

Questions like that were detrimental to a service member’s morale. Jasmine took a breath and closed the file. She looked at Vivian who was sitting in the chair on the opposite side of her desk. Entirely focused on the data pad in her hand, she didn’t look up or speak. Instead, she just swiped her finger across the touchscreen and continued speed-reading through countless files. Vivian was busy trying to devise new tactics to maximize their firepower and minimize their profiles in orbital combat. Her blonde hair was free from its regulation bun and a few locks fell in front of her emerald eyes. But the Captain did not seem to mind. 

“I remember the news reports. All over the television were shaky videos taken with COM-pads, showing two dirty looking guys. They looked more like rats who just crawled out of the sewer. I thought there was a fire or some other kind of accident until a follow-up report referred to them as UNSC personnel. To think I was looking at them all this time.”

Vivian didn’t take her eyes off the screen as she spoke. Multitasking was a trait Vivian developed while at OCS. Jasmine could keep pace but never truly match her. She closed a window with her two fingers and opened another. “I can’t believe I was inspired by that.”

“Seeing two people struggle for each other like that must have had more impact than the stock recruitment ads that fly around television.”

“For a teenager finishing up high school and trying to figure out what to do with her life, it provided an option.” Vivian put the data pad down and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I mean, I was already thinking about it. I wanted to do something big, make a difference, and be a part of something even if it was something I harbored reservations against.”

Jasmine sometimes forgot Vivian was as much a critic of the UNSC as she was a defender. Many of the people she met and trained with, the policies regarding the war, and the emphasis on protecting people really spoke to her. Of course, their sweep and clear operations against seemingly benign Insurrectionist holdouts and their less than liberal attitude towards collateral damage were aspects she still vilified. 

“Do you want to talk about—”

“I don’t stroll through the barracks too often but I don’t need to. I’ve never seen two people more attuned and loyal to each other than Frost and Steele.”

“I don’t know about that, I think you and I have got something pretty rare,” Jasmine said, partially in jest. It was enough to make Vivian smile but it was fleeting. She sat back in the chair and folded her hands on top of her stomach.

“I’d speak to the rest of his squad but I’m sure everyone has some kind of similar story about him. Not to mention I’m sure they’ll spin the same condescending ‘old Marine,’ attitude or just share the collective lie the 89 th is spinning about their actions on Skopje.”

“Isn’t Nora Langley your little insider? Why not talk to her.”

“I did. She couldn’t say enough about the Marines or Frost in particular. I’m pretty sure she’s been caught up in their macho-bro-squad-camaraderie nonsense already. I think she’s a lost cause.

“That’s probably for the better. Manipulation is particularly cruel in the opinion of this doctor,” Jasmine said in a somewhat biting tone. Vivian sank in her chair and averted her gaze. After a few moments, Jasmine sighed, removed her glasses, and rubbed her eyes. Sleep avoided her for the past few nights, but she knew she was not alone in that regard. Shifts were long, the work was hard; it was what she signed up for but that didn’t make it easy. Sleeping in Cryo didn’t exactly provide the most restful slumber either. Anxiety had much to do with it. Leaning back in her chair, she tilted her head back and stared up at the titanium ceiling. “Are you going to try and kill him?”

She felt Vivian’s eyes settle on her. When she didn’t say anything, Jasmine met her gaze. The  _ I’m Alone’s  _ Captain possessed the nerve to look surprised. As much as she resisted the urge, she found it ultimately insulting. “We can go back and forth all day and night, Vivian. We can discuss law, we can discuss war. But it all comes back to the same thing: you’d be committing murder. And I’m not losing my best friend to prison nor am I going to let a decent man be killed.”

Silence persisted between the pair. Vivian attempted to maintain a strong and resolute gaze but the longer Jasmine’s calm eyes met hers, the less she was able to stare. Eventually, her head hung low. Jasmine’s own expression faltered, so she came around to her side, knelt beside the chair, and placed her hand on Vivian’s wrist. “I’m not asking you to forgive him or forget what happened. I just want to help you heal. And what you think is the best course of action is not how you do that.”

“Jas...” Vivian said, her voice thick. She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. Finally, she exhaled as if she was holding her breath and began nodding. “Okay. I won’t. I promise.” The words came out as if they were painful to say. Jasmine felt that same discomfort in her chest, how it felt like venom to cough them up. But she stroked Vivian’s arm and lowered herself further to look into her eyes. 

“You’re going to be okay, Viv.” Jasmine reached around and ran her hand up and down Vivian’s upper back. “It’s alright, you’re alright. Hey, look at me. You can stay here for as long as you want. If you want to talk, we can talk, if you just want a place to be quiet, you can do that too.” 

Vivian shrugged and took a shaky breath. Jasmine smiled earnestly as she stood up. Sliding her hands into her lab coat pockets and went to sit down.

“Do you have feelings for him?”

Jasmine stopped, not quite sitting in her chair but not entirely sitting either. She felt like a deer in the headlights. After a few moments, Jasmine sat down and folded her hands on the desk. Compensating for her surprise, she did her best to appear professional. 

“Not in the way you mean. He’s a decent man and a very fine Marine. And we talk a lot; it’s easy to talk to him like it is with you. I consider him a friend as far as our ranks can allow it. I’m sorry, I know it bothers you.”

“If I really stop and think about it, it doesn’t get to me too much.”

That was a surprising but ultimately good sign. Vivian came to that conclusion on her own; it was a massive step in the right direction. Jasmine contained her excitement for the development, not wishing to make Vivian feel uncomfortable or speaking condescendingly to her. 

“Well, I just want you to know its casual but cordial.”

“You don’t have to justify it to me. I’m not your mom.”

“But you are my friend and commanding officer,” Jasmine said, leaning forward a little bit and speaking in a chiding tone. 

“Fine, I  _ consent  _ to your friendship,” Vivian said, finally smiling. That was all Jasmine wanted to see, Vivian’s glowing, freckled face light up again. 

  
  


Sitting on the deck of the squad’s barracks, Langley sat with a  _ STARS  _ magazine on her thighs. It was an older issue but anything to pass the time was welcome. The  _ I’m Alone  _ had completed another jump and were docked at a mobile refitting station to receive fresh supplies. What ammunition the ship and the ground forces expended needed to be replenished. Long range missions like these required ample supplies at all times. Of course, this left the Marines little to do. After PT, weapons and training familiarization, and a few classroom lectures on aspects such as land navigation, there were few duty functions to perform after midday. Passing the time required a great deal of skill the squad liked to joke. 

As she turned the page, her eyes glazing over an article discussing the inner-workings of the M41 Light Anti-Aircraft Vulcan, she heard cursing in the corridor. The door remained opened generally; Frost preferred it that way to let air in and so that any of their friends in the platon or other units within the 89 th could poke their heads in. While cussing permeated even the most casual conversations, this bout seemed particularly venomous. Deciding to investigate, she leaned out of the doorway and looked both ways. A few sailors were passin through the barracks to get to their duty station but they seemed undisturbed by the noise. Marines loitering in the halls talked as if nothing was happening. 

Langley began walking down the hall. As she headed aft, the noise grew louder. Eventually, a figure familiar to her eyes stepped out of the door where the yelling and laughter was coming from. Sanchez was another Navy corpsman, one she had arrived with a few weeks ago. He was a mid-sized chap with jet black, flat hair, and a narrow face. His ears were a little on the larger size and he always reminded her of a quiet dog; one that was warm and could smile, but was not as energetic or boisterous as others. 

Today, he looked particularly put out. His head was down and his hair was wet. He didn’t even seem to notice her as he walked by her. Langley caught his arm and made him stop.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“No. I mean, yes.” He sighed and together they began walking down the hall. “It’s the squad I’m bunking with. The Marines there treat me like shit. They give me all these work details, berate me, don’t include me in any of their conversations. I mean, this is some high school bullshit.”

“It’s just the typical new guy treatment. They’re going to give you some bad details and dump stuff on you, but it’ll pass.”

Sanchez looked at her indifferently.

“You didn’t have to do any of that from what I saw.”

Langley knew she had gotten an easy ride. While she had received some static from the squad at times, it was behind her. Other than a few jabs, they didn’t bog her down with useless work or undesirable details. Sergeant Frost wasn’t that kind of NCO and his men obeyed his orders even when he wasn’t around. But she didn’t just see them as the squad now. Together, they’d survived two bad battles and they treated her with respect, not just as their corpsman but a fellow warrior. Teasing persisted, but it was something more familiar and intimate. She could dish it back too; Langley was aware that probably had something to do with their quick acceptance. That, and she’d already been in combat before. 

Sanchez was new and fresh. From what she heard, he performed well during the battle. But apparently that was enough for the squad he was attached to. He ran a hand over his face and shook his head. “I thought Marines liked corpsmen.”

“If they don’t right now, they will when you’re patching them in the field. You just need to show them you’re worth keeping around.”

“I don’t think they want to keep, ‘a good for nothing fuckhead swabbie,’ around for much longer.”

“Their words, huh? Did you come from the mess hall?”

“Yeah, they’re still there.”

“Good.”

  
  


“So, are you going to tell me what was bugging you the other day?” Frost asked Steele. The two were sitting across from each other at the end of one of the mess hall long tables. The others were either still in the Armory or in line for their meals. Normally, everyone who was present would get into the chow line together but Frost kept the sniper back. Something was bothering Steele and he wouldn’t open up about it. Private time was rather scarce with several other Marines sharing the same space or journeying with them whenever they went to the indoor range or the exercise. As the thought crossed his mind, he suppressed a smile. It reminded him of being home with his four sisters; if he turned around, one would be in his face. Privacy was a rare commodity. Living with a squad, even at three-quarters strength, made it even more rear. 

Steele sipped his coffee and shrugged. He didn’t look up, staring into the warm brown contents of the cup. 

“It was nothing.”

“You seem upset, dude.” Frost waited to see if Steele would say anything. When the sniper failed to, he leaned forward. “Hey, I’ve known you since we were thirteen, okay? I know when something’s wrong.”

“You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Actually, I kind of have to: I’m your boss,” Frost said and grinned. That earned an unamused, depleted glare from Steele. But the look softened and the blonde-haired Marine rested his chin on his hand.

“Look, Waters called me up to her quarters. Tried to grill me about you and the 89 th . All I gave her was the op you and I went on.”

“That was classified.”

“Like I give a shit,” Steele muttered and took a slug of his coffee. “I think she’s gunning for you, Nate. She’s gathering intel just like we would before an op. Watch your six.”

Frost blinked, then laughed a little. 

“Why? There’s nothing going on with me and the Captain. That little spat in the hangar was a spur of the moment thing, my man.”

Steele set his cup down, folded his arms on the table, and leaned forward. He wore a satisfied grin which elevated his trim mustache ever so slightly. When he did that, it made him look like a smiling mouse. 

“Lying does not become you, bruv.” Before Frost could even inquire, Steele looked around to make sure no one was close. “I saw what happened back in the Armory. You and the Captain going at it. I was trying to line up a shot but couldn’t get one. Just when I was going to run in, Hayes showed up. I’ve kept my trap shut about it since.”

“Then keep it shut,” Frost hissed urgently, again checking to make sure no one was within earshot. “The squad doesn’t need to know anything. Hayes told us to keep it under wraps and that’s what we’ve been doing. If word gets out, it’ll be bad for morale and investigation could occur.”

“Fuckin’-A it will! That bitch tried to cap you and you’re keeping quiet? She’s nuts!”

“It doesn’t matter what you or I think. Hayes seems to think she’s the key to our survival out here and considering what she did to the Covvies in that fight, he may be right. If she gets sent off, who will we be saddled with then?”

“Someone who is a maniac.”

“I don’t like it anymore than you do, okay? I know you won’t do it for Hayes, but don’t tell anyone else for my sake. This will just be a huge mess even if the law would be on our side. Waters just slipped a little, okay?”

Steele was unconvinced. His lips were pursed tightly and his glare was incredulous. Eventually, he exhaled and ran his fingers through his mop of hair. With a shrug, he nodded. 

“Fine. For you, not that psycho bitch or the old man.”

“Try to keep that kind of talk to a minimum. If you slip up it could mean...is that Langley?”

Frost’s attention was drawn to the corpsman. She stormed into the mess hall with her hands balled into fists, her shoulders hunched, and her head down. It was as if she was about to tear someone. From the fury in her eyes he could tell she was looking for a fight. With Steele, he watched her march over to Second Squad led by Sergeant Nebiyev. He was a solid and dependable Marine but his character was rough like Steele’s. For him, he didn’t wait for shore leave to have a good time and like to create his own amusement. Most of his squad was the same way.

Langley, Nebiyev, and his men were too far away for the pair of Marines to hear the conversation. From the squad’s gestures, Frost could tell they were blowing Langley off. But she held her ground and continued to wave her finger at them. Suddenly, Nebiyev said something and Langley bared her teeth. Ripping a tray of fresh food from the table, she upended it over the sergeant’s head. 

Steele whistled. Frost jumped to his feet and hurried over. By the time they made it, Nebiyev was on his feet and jabbing Langley in the shoulder with her stubby finger. In return, she continually shoved him in the chest. A tirade of threats and curses were exchanged between the two. Frost slid in between the two and pushed them away from each other. He got in Langley’s face. “You have five seconds to tell me what the hell is going on here!”

“This asshole thinks it’s okay to treat the new guy on his team like shit. It’s not right, this isn’t the typical hazing process. Sanchez is a trained corpsman and one day he’s going to save your lives!”

“Nate, get that bitch under control, would ya?” Nebiyev asked in a casual tone. Frost whirled around. 

“You don’t tell me how to run my squad. Keep your mouth shut.”

“Taking their side, huh?”

“There is no side!” Langley shouted. “We’re all on the same team no matter what!”

“Lock it down, Nora,” Frost ordered, pushing her towards their table. “Get your food, sit down, and  _ shut up _ .” Langley shoved his hand away but obeyed. After a moment, Frost glared back at his opposite. Nebiyev was busy taking bread crumbs and peas out of his crop of black hair. All he did was snort and waved him off. Unwilling to dignify the Marine’s attitude with a response, Frost and Steele went back to their table. Once there, Langley explained what happened to one of the other corpsmen, Sanchez. Frost couldn’t help but agree their treatment of the new guy was a little harsh. He didn’t approve of hazing himself, having risen about it during basic training. But he made it clear to Langley she wasn’t to behave that way with fellow personnel, at least not by herself. A squad worked together and fought together, even when they weren’t supposed to. It was all he could say to make sure she didn’t feel like she wasn’t in too much trouble.

  
  


Vivian was sitting at her station on the bridge reviewing the  _ I’m Alone’s  _ rearmament. All the Archer Missile Pods were replaced and the MACs were serviced. At her request, EVA teams installed extra emergency thrusters at key points on the hull of her and other ships. She saw no harm in having more than the standard amount when there was plenty of space on the hull. As she worked, the bridge crew continued about their duties but it was more laid back than usual. 

Under the shadow of the refitting station, the ship was essentially in drydock. Essential systems were still running but many of the combat parameters were relaxed. ONI Prowler Corps scouts reported no enemy movement in adjacent systems and sectors. Vivian felt secure enough that she didn’t need everyone standing to. Casual conversation permeated the bridge and she couldn’t help but overhear some of the discussions.

“ _ Everest  _ would totally whip the  _ I’m Alone _ ,” Delaney said. He had just deposited a data module at Bassot’s station. The weapons officer groaned and shook his head.

“Do I detect the musky scent of treason, Lieutenant?  _ I’m Alone’s  _ retrofits make her a heavier ship, give her extra guns, and better armor. Not to mention these upgrades to the MACs!”

“You can have the biggest, baddest gun all you want but what matters most is who’s holding it,” Delaney retorted. “Admiral Cole was  _ the  _ sailor. No human could ever hope to beat him. I don’t think anyone can ever hope to match the spirit of his bravery, tactical acumen, and aggressiveness.”

“Captain Waters definitely can.”

“My money’s on Cole,” Vivian said, raising her voice so it would carry across the expansive bridge. “If his ghost came back for a fight, he’d surely win.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Captain!” Koroma chimed. 

“Sell? Money? Do we have a pot going? How many creds should I put in to start?” Tsang asked. 

Everyone snickered, including Vivian. Even Solak and Uwem, two of the most stalwart and serious men on the  _ I’m Alone _ , were amused. The only one who didn’t seem to care for joking around was the AI, Decatur. Folding his arms across his chest, he shook his head slowly.

“In my day, such lackadaisical and carefree banter would not have been allowed on my ship. There is a time for merrymaking and there is a time to be work.”

“It’s important to let things hang a little loose sometimes,” Vivian told the AI. “We’re all sailors but we need to feel like people, too. Let them have this, okay?”

“Of course, Captain! I hope I did not come off as overstepping!” The blue hologram suddenly flashed. “Catapin, Sergeant Frost is requesting permission to come onto the bridge.”

Vivian’s blood ran cold for a moment. She looked sharply at the AI, her emerald eyes widening. But it lasted only for a moment. She resumed a passive expression, stood up, and smoothed out her gray tunic. Folding her hands behind her back, she assumed a stately demeanor, as if she was about to enter a high-class meeting. 

“I’ll speak to him outside,” she said. Not waiting for the AI’s response, Vivian spun around and quickly marched through the bridge door. It hissed shut behind her. Waiting for her was Sergeant Frost, waiting by the AI pedestal on the port side of the short hall. No other personnel were present and Vivian was relieved to see that. He turned slowly, his gray eyes roiling like a raincloud on the wind. “Can I help you, Sergeant?”

“I heard you spoke with my assistant squad leader,” Frost said, sliding his hands into his pockets as he trundled over to her. Vivian folded her arms across her chest as if she was donning a bulletproof chest piece. The Marine stopped less than a foot away from him. He blinked a little, as if he was trying to clear his vision. Inhaling sharply, he shrugged and looked at the deck. “Learn anything?”

“What do you want, Jack the Ripper?”

Instantly, Frost’s face contorted with anger. Scoffing, he waved his hand like he was brushing away a pestering fly.

“You can throw that name around as if it hurts me. Say it all you want.”

“I don’t care if it hurts you or not. I say it because I don’t want you to forget what you are.”

“I should’ve figured it’d be like this,” Frost said under his breath. He took another step and took his hands out of his pockets. “I’m going to say one thing and I’m not going to repeat it: do not fuck with my squad. This stays between us. You even look at them the wrong way, I’ll—”

“Kill me?” Vivian asked. Frost bared his teeth for a moment. For a moment, she thought he was going to start growling. He opened his mouth to speak but all he did was release a breath of aggravated air. “You certainly have gall to come up here and give me orders.”

“Don’t wrap my squad up in your past.”

“ _ Our  _ past.”

“Fuck you. I’m a Marine. I was following orders. I don’t have to justify anything.” Frost stepped closer and peered down at her. “You might be the Captain of this ship but I am in command of this squad. Do not forget that.”

Vivian met his intense, piercing stare and returned it with her own. Everything began to darken. Suddenly, the shadows took shape. Long hair, slender frames, trails of blood, and white eyes. One by one, they joined their hands and made a ring around them. As they began to spin, they seemed to sing. Or at least, it seemed like singing. It could have easily been mistaken for outraged, mournful wailing.

“Captain?” 

The darkness winked away. Vivian blinked and turned to the AI pedestal. Decatur stood with his hands by his sides. “Ma’am, an urgent dispatch from Rear Admiral Travers. Transferring to your data pad.” Vivian reached around and took the pad out of her belt just as the message pinged. She opened it. It wasn’t just from Travers, it had been passed from NAVSPECWARCOM, who was their umbrella command. Even more surprising was the ONI tag as well. 

She looked up at Frost. The Marine grunted, turned, and marched down the hall with his hands balled into fists. Vivian looked back down at the message and opened it. She scanned the contents quickly. An ONI Sahara-class Prowler,  _ River Styx _ , was in orbit around a distant, abandoned system called Farwater. An intelligence recovery mission was being conducted when a Covenant flotilla jumped into the system.  _ River Styx  _ remained in cloak and maintained radio silence, but their recovery team was discovered. Another operative was dispatched to assist but  _ River Styx  _ was discovered. Forced to flee the system, they left the ONI Section-Three operative on the planet who was still carrying out the mission. The operative was designated Carris-137.

  
  


The radar facility was without power, leveling the long, crumbling concrete hallways quiet and dark. Because of the damage to the exterior, the wind was able to infiltrate the structure and a cold breeze drifted down the corridors. As Carris journeyed further into the structure, the more the wind moaned. It was as if the building itself was groaning, aggravated at her presence. Approaching a stairwell, she stacked up at the corner. Briefly glancing at her motion tracker, she saw no red dots. 

Popping around the corner with an M7S, she activated her helmet lights. Aging concrete steps were illuminated in stark white light. Aside from the muddy boot prints on the steps, there were no other signs of activity. 

“ _ River Styx _ , this is Yellow Actual,” she said over the comms link. “Proceeding to basement-level.” She waited for a response but received none. Something was interfering with communications or the Prowler reverted to radio silence without notifying her. She was aware of the Covenant presence both in orbit and on the surface of the planet, but her comms were secure. 

Briefly, she checked her equipment. On her right hip was an M6S, a variant of the M6C with an integrated sound suppressor and a flashlight attachment. Like the suppressed M7 she carried, the scope was smart-linked to her visor. On her back she carried an M739 in case the fighting got heavy. Bandoliers crossed her chest and M9 fragmentation grenades lined her waist. Satisfied her equipment was secure, she crept down the stairs. 

The entrance to the basement was on the left side. Again, she checked her corners and entered. Her motion tracker was still clear of both friend and hostile markers. Slowly, she scanned the room with her helmet-mounted flashlights. Electrical panels, monitors, consoles, terminals, and switchboards lined the wall. Everything seemed rusty, broken, and decrepit. Ankle-deep water covered the floor and the sound of dripping echoed throughout the empty room. 

She sloshed through, unable to maintain stealth. Moving to the other side of the room she found another doorway. This led to a perpendicular hallway. To the right was pure darkness and to the left a dull red light was glowing above another door. Carris studied the plans to the radar facility before she descended to the planet and knew the generator room was there. When she entered the room, she found the main generators were wrecked but the backups were functional. She threw the switch and the generators hummed to life. Lights began flickering on inside the room and in the hall. Machinery in other rooms began to whir to life as well. 

Carris put a finger to the side of her helmet. “ _ River Styx _ , Yellow Actual. Power restored, continuing search.” Again, there was no response. Taking her M7S back in hand, she went back into the hall which was brightly lit. At the far end, where the darkness once was, she saw the recovery team. ONI operatives clad in black ODST armor littered the floor. Slowly, she approached them. Blood mixed in with the greenish-brown water, covered the walls, and coated their armor. Heads, arms, legs were severed. Three out of the twelve operatives were cut in half. One had their intestines ripped out. 

There were no signs of projectiles or plasma burns on the walls. Upon examining the wounds she found the majority cauterized. Energy swords. But the amount of blood also indicated traditional melee weapons as well. Carris knew she didn’t have much time to examine the bodies. Searching for the commander, she found the operative leaning against the heavy metal double doors. Bloody handprints stained the rusty doors. Digging into his pack, she found the data module they were seeking. “ _ River Styx _ , this is Yellow One Actua. Recovery team is KIA, break.” She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring she was not being watched. “Data module recovered, commencing security initiative.”

Her heavy armor thunking on the concrete floor and sloshing through the water, Carris returned to the first room. Using the codes the ONI handler provided, she entered the system via the command console. As she suspected, the recovery team had made copies of all available data and then wiped the entire system. Nothing was left as per the mission objective. But ONI decreed they didn’t want the Covenant to get familiar with UNSC technology regardless of what was and wasn’t on it. Taking a charge from the pack she carried underneath her longarm, she planted a substantial demolition charge that would destroy the foundation and cause the structure to collapse. It took her ten minutes to infiltrate the structure so she gave herself fifteen minutes on the timer. After the detonation code was input, she set it down at the foot of the console and went back to the stairs. 

Carris planted her foot on the bottom step. The wind moaned, then faded. She heard grunting voices, a few squawks, and then some yipping. All sounds were familiar to her ears. Creeping back into the room, she went back to the bomb, deactivated the countdown, and changed the timer to twenty minutes. Taking it from the console, she tucked under the rear panels where it would still be maximally effective. 

The plans showed a secondary exit via the room across the hall. From there it led to an underground loading bay and a tunnel that ran for a kilometer through the hills. All she needed to do was follow it. Proceeding at a light jog, she whisked through the hall and room, and eventually arrived at the bay. There she found the concrete piers cracked and littered with opened and broken supply crates. A few tractor trailers and forklifts, covered with webs and dust, sat in the docks. Before she took off running, she saw a dozen red dots appear on her motion tracker. Looking up, Zealot-class Elites emerged from their cloaks. In the light, their maroon armor shone. Each one drew an energy sword, the white-purple plasma sparking as it appeared. 

Carris reached for her M739.


	32. The Spartan

Vivian folded her arms across her chest as the gold and turquoise lights of slipspace flooded the bridge. By turns, it was illuminated by its own light fixtures, grew very bright as the lights passed by, and then darker by comparison. Slipspace was eerie; the tunnel that appeared around the  _ I’m Alone  _ was tumultuous yet the ship moved so gracefully. At the end, the black hole appeared intimidating and never seemed to grow any closer. It was like being in a dream. 

The bridge was already busy. She ordered the entire crew awake for the last leg of the journey so they were battle ready by the time they arrived. Staff were coordinating their stations and transmitting data to one another. Decatur pasted the last known projections of enemy ships in the system to each terminal. A blown up image displayed on the starboard tactical suite. On the port side, the display showed Vivian’s projected coordinates for the battlegroup. All the commanders knew where they were going to form up and which ships to attack as soon as they exited slipspace. Vivian wasn’t going to take any chances; they were up against destroyer, two light cruisers, and three light cruisers. By tonnage, her ships held the advantage but even the smallest Covenant ships’ armaments could cleave through titanium battleplate. Too many cocky UNSC captains allowed heavy cruisers to be surrounded and were then swarmed by the smaller Covenant ships like they were a cloud of killer bees.

Although Vivian had not voiced her concern to the crew, she doubted the operative they were sent to rescue was still alive. It didn’t matter how experienced and skilled they were; the slipspace journey was fourteen days and nobody could hold out for that long on their own. The mission was beginning to stink. Were they really there to rescue an NAVSPECWARCOM operative or just to clean up another ONI secret? What was the recon time after in the first place? If this was really about data collection, why hadn’t they just said so? Vivian was not in a place to refuse a mission. And what was with this operative’s name? Carris-137; was it a codename? Considering she was a Navy special operator or more likely an ONI bogeyman it probably was. In the end, she forced herself to accept the strange parameters of the mission and focused on fighting the enemy ships. At the very least, they could deal another blow to the Covenant fleet. Destroying their ships before they entered UNSC-controlled space was always a critical mission.

Behind her, the bridge doors opened. Colonel Hayes, dressed in his light green MARPAT-pattern utility uniform, walked in with Major Holst. The ODST was already armed and dressed in his BDUs. Behind the latter was his executive officer, Captain De Vos. While her commander walked in a comfortable, familiar manner on the bridge, her posture remained disciplined. She didn’t so much as walk as she did march into the room. With Hayes was Sergeant Frost, clad in olive drab M52B body armor. In his left hand he clutched his helmet and he held the leather strap of his MA5B, slung over his shoulder, in the other. 

“Ma’am,” they greeted in unison.

“Let’s go over this one more time. One squad of Marines and three M12’s will deploy as close as possible to the operative’s IFF tag. If we can’t get a fix on their tag, we’ll drop them at the operative’s last known location. If that’s the case, it’s  _ imperative  _ the Marines move quickly. We don’t want to sit in this system for too long.”

“Frost and his squad are the people for the job,” Hayes said. When Vivian first pitched the usage of Frost and his squad before the voyage, Hayes was in immediate agreement. To him, Frost was one of the good old boys and the star pupil rolled into one. He didn’t suspect her true motivation of sending the Marine on a high-risk mission. After the encounter with Frost prior to the voyage, her blood was up and boiling. If he was going to grow so bold as to confront in that manner, almost in front of her crew, the situation between them was going to get worse. She made a promise not to kill him. But that didn’t exempt him from especially dangerous duties.

“Major, Captain De Vos will stand-to with a platoon of ODSTs to act as a QRF.”

“Begging your pardon, Captain, but I’m of the opinion this op is better suited to the ODSTs,” Holst said, folding his arms across his chest. “We’re better trained, better armed, and we could move faster regardless of vehicles. After all, we fall under NAVSPECWAR, so we know what makes this operative tick.”

“Noted, Major, but we’re  _ all  _ NAVSPECWAR now. The Marines are briefed and prepared for this mission. I don’t want to make any last minute changes.”

“With all due respect Captain, I request my ODSTs deploy in lieu of the Marines. We’re simply better for this job. Quick, precise, aggressive.”

“Are you questioning my orders, Major?” Vivian asked vehemently. 

“No, ma’am, I just—”

“Your request is denied and you are dismissed.” 

Holst pursed his lips but nodded. As he and De Vos left, Vivian turned her attention to Frost. The gray in his eyes was quite misty, like dissipating fog. It was as if the impending, perilous mission provided clarity. Only one such as him, an adrenaline junkie killer, could find war so liberating. “Are you up for this, Sergeant?”

“Ma’am, my squad is assembled in the hangar and ready to go.”

“Good. Try not to let the person you’re rescuing die this time.”

Frost gritted his teeth and took a step forward. Hayes’s arm shout out in front of him. 

“Captain Waters, I resent that comment,” he said in an articulate, authoritative tone. Vivian stared at him for a long moment. The senior officer was calm but defiant. Frost looked like he wanted to fight her. Like a wolf poised to strike, his lips revealed clenched teeth. That was all the excuse she needed; one move on his part and she’d have every justification in the world.

Hayes turned and shoved Frost by his chestplate. “Get your scrawny ass down to the hangar and be ready to deploy.” As the junior Marine departed, Hayes glared at Vivian. “Be careful, Captain,” he said in a low tone.

“Get off my bridge, Colonel,” Vivian replied in an equally hushed voice. Hayes whirled around and stormed off. 

She waited until the doors sealed and pressurized before taking her seat. She logged into her console, began monitoring the data, and waited for the slipspace exit. Sosa began counting down and the black hole at the end of the tunnel suddenly loomed larger and larger. It began to change colors, morphing into a swirling sea of white and blue.  _ I’m Alone  _ lurched towards it and in a flash they were in the darkness of realspace. Watching her screens, she saw the other ships exit slipspace on either side of her ship. 

Vivian gripped the ends of the armrests. “Okay people, monitor your screens, watch your data, keep your ears open. Koroma, open FLEETCOM 7, secure net with all ships. Sosa, get us into line formation at half-speed. Bassot, charge both MACs divert power from non-essential facilities. Tsang, monitor our sub-systems, assist Koroma as need be, keep me apprised of our duty stations.”

She began examining the display of the entire system. The often inefficient and imprecise nature of the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine benefitted them that day. Their exit was in the perfect location to attack the enemy ships. Not only was the battlegroup together in a few minutes, they were behind the enemy flotilla and at an opportune time. Both light cruisers were on the far side of the planet while all three corvettes were in the world’s atmosphere supporting infantry operations. Only the destroyer was in a position to defend itself. 

It was impossible not to smile. Vivian sat forward eagerly, her emerald eyes sparkling. “Primary maneuvers: all ships, full speed ahead, maintain line formation, fire on the destroyer at will. Secondary maneuvers:  _ Best of the Best _ ,  _ Determined Guardian _ ,  _ Lion’s Den _ , wedge formation and engage corvettes as they come about.  _ Batavia _ and  _ I’m Alone _ , maintain line and engage the cruisers. 

The entire battlegroup closed in with the destroyer. Imagining the shock on the alien captain’s face delighted Vivian to no end. Despite being caught off guard, the Covenant destroyer made a graceful ninety degree turn. Either in a fit of stupidity, suicidal zealous faith, or incredible bravery, its engines flared and it began speeding right towards the five UNSC ships. Vivian knew what the enemy captain was doing; the alien wanted to run the gauntlet, minimizing their profile as they did, and try to pass the UNSC ships before making a hard turn behind them. Then, it could use its superior weaponry to attack the lightly defended stern sections. 

But the MACs were already hot. Bassot fired both primary rounds and they struck parallel on the destroyer’s bow. The combined impact was able to eliminate the shields. And the second volley struck in the same area. Two massive holes appeared followed by explosions further in the bow. Flames began to billow out.  _ Batavia _ fired her own modified MACs; their shots proved to be slightly higher but they left huge streaks in the top hull. After the rounds passed, torn metal began flying from the two cuts. 

_ Lion’s Den  _ and  _ Determined Guardian _ , bringing up the wings of the line formation, fired their cannons at the same time. The rounds hit the destroyer amidships and passed through, leaving two tunnels intersecting each other like a letter X. Secondary explosions bloomed across the hull.  _ Best of the Best  _ dealt the killing blow, firing a round which passed through amidships and detonated in the stern. In a giant explosions of red, white, yellow, and purple plasma, the destroyer broke up. Everyone cheered, pounding their feet on the deck and bringing their fists down on their desks. 

Immediately, all ships executed their phase two maneuvers.  _ I’m Alone  _ came  _ abreast  _ of  _ Batavia _ ; looking out to port, Vivian smiled as the massive carrier increased its speed. She opened a private channel with Captain Kelly. 

“How about a race, Captain?” she asked. “First ship that lands a hit gets a drink from the second ship’s captain.”

“You’re on, Waters,” the Austrailian replied. 

“Give it everything you’ve got, Sosa!” Vivian shouted. Sosa immediately increased speed and the  _ I’m Alone  _ shot forward. Ahead, the two light cruisers completed their turns and moved into engage the two heavy UNSC warships. Soon, they were in range; MAC rounds and plasma lasers and torpedos passed each other. Activating emergency thrusters, the UNSC ships avoided heavy damage. Lasers skimmed the top layer of their battleplate, searing away large sections. Damage control reported no penetration. But the torpedos they dodged detonated like airbursting artillery shells and the shockwaves rocked the  _ I’m Alone _ . Swathes of her armor were burned, singed, and sheared away. MAC rounds slammed against the cruisers’ shields and destroyed them. Second salvos blasted chunks of sleek purple armor away. As the ships closed in on one another, Archer Missiles pummeled the cruisers’ hulls. Fires broke out and soon they began to break up. As the UNSC ships passed them, they exploded. Again, the ships were rocked back and forth but came out unscathed. 

Captain Kelly opened the communication channel.

“ _ I’m Alone _ , I don’t think we can rightly tell who landed the first shot so I’ll call it a draw.”

“Don’t pull that one with me,  _ Batavia _ ,” Vivian said with a grin, “we both know  _ I’m Alone  _ hit first.”

“We’ll have to review the battle footage first, ma’am.”

“Agreed.”

“Ma’am,  _ Lion’s Den _ is reporting the enemy corvettes are destroyed. Orbit is cleared except for some stray fighters that managed to deploy,” Lieutenant Koroma reported. 

“Deploy Longsword escorts for the Albatrosses. Search and rescue mission is a-go.”

  
  


There was only a twenty-percent charge left on the plasma pistol. Already, the upper left projection of the weapon and the energy bar were flashing red. Her grenade counter was empty and her armor integrity was down by fifty percent. The remaining bars were bright yellow. Her motion tracker was covered with red dots. Panting, exhausted, and overtaxed, Carris took a deep breath and tried to draw on her remaining strength. 

Everything was a blur even through the clarity of her visor. Fourteen days of running, fighting, evading, catching an hour of sleep in a scratch of earth, sipping water from riverbeds, eating natural fruits; fourteen days spent trying to find some way off the planet. She gave up hope of UNSC evacuation and tried to hijack a Phantom, but all her attempts failed. All she left behind her were trails of Covenant corpses. At this rate, she was going to sprint across the whole continent. 

Bounding over a hill, she slid down the opposite side, broke through some hedges, and dove into a depression. Behind her, green bolts of plasma came flying over her head. Grunts squealed, Jackals shrieked, and Skirmishers squawked. Behind them roared and pushed them on. A few Skirmishers darted through the hedges. Carris sprung up and peppered them with the plasma pistol. One fell and the other backed off. Still firing, she rushed forward and snatched the pistol the dead one was carrying. It registered on her HUD and thankfully possessed a seventy-eight percent charge. Hearing more aliens approaching, she fell back again, leaping across the depression and bounding over the next hill. 

It was terrible ground. To her right was a row of bluffs and hills which the enemy could use to easily flank her position. Behind her was more highground and to the left were nothing but ravines. She could try losing them in those but there was no guarantee there were other ways out. One could very well lead to a dead end and she would become trapped. Although confident she could fight some of them off hand to hand and break out, her armor couldn’t take much more. All she could do was sprint across the ground as fast as she could and try to get to the next berm. Just as she started, Skirmishers armed with rifles dashed across her right flank. Pink needles began to shatter around her feet and dig into the ground. 

The enemy fire was intensifying. Some rounds grazed her armor. She needed to return fire and slid in behind some rocks close to the flanking hills. It was bad cover but it was all she had. Crouching, she fired the plasma pistol rapidly. A few aggressors were shot down but the long range fire was keeping her pinned. A horde of them were storming towards her. Carris slid behind cover, listening to the needles shatter against the stone. She was not scared nor did she feel resigned. But there was a peculiar blank feeling, one she never quite felt before. It was a grim acceptance of the situation, knowledge she would have to fight the biggest battle of her life if she was to complete the mission.

Just as she was about to vault over the rock and engage, she heard vehicles. More than a few Ghosts attempted to attack her in the past two weeks but she was able to destroy them. But these didn’t sound like the whirring, purring Ghost engine. It was rugged, rough, strong, and fast. The Covenant seemed to be stunned, surprised to hear it as well. Carris recognized the noise; they sounded like M12s. But there weren’t any UNSC forces on the planet. Maybe her dehydration was beginning to play tricks on her. But then she heard shouting and whooping, accompanied by the report of M41 guns. 

A group of Jackals parallel to her position turned around, then recoiled, and ran. A single M12 Warthog came leaping over the crest, followed by a second to its left, and a third on the right. Carris watched all three vehicles glide through the air right over her head. Marines hung out of the sides, firing and screaming the entire time. All three vehicles slammed onto the ground, fishtailed, and drove through the hordes of Covenant soldiers. Grunts threw down their weapons and fleds. Jackals and Skirmishers scurried all around. Elites struggled to maintain control of their forces and bravely fought against the new attackers. But their shields were chewed up by the automatic fire and soon they fell dead, riddled by bullets. 

Finally one of the M12 came to a stop. The driver, a blonde haired mustached Marine, and the gunner, a Marine sergeant with a sheen of stubble, blinked at her. Eventually, the Sergeant took one hand off the gun and cupped it around his mouth.

“Yellow Actual!?” he called. Carris nodded. “Get in here!”

Carris jogged over, discarding the nearly empty plasma pistol, and climbed into the bed of the truck. The Marine sergeant looked puzzled as she stood over him. Unwilling to argue, Carris grabbed one of the weapon’s grips. In response the Marine held up his hands. “Alright, have it your way.” He jumped into the cab, slid into the passenger seat, and grabbed his MA5B. He put a finger to his helmet’s earpiece. “ _ I’m Alone _ , Bravo One-One Actual, Yellow One is secure. Proceeding to exfil. Out.”

“Hey, get on our SQUADCOM. Switch to channel eight.”

“Check,” Carris said.

“Holy shit, it talks.”

“Pipe down and drive, Steele,” the sergeant ordered. 

Carris held on as the driver hit the gas and led the other two vehicles over the hills. The Warthogs bounced over slopes, declines, berms, and low hills. They swerved around rocks and busted through hedges. Grass and earth were churned up by the wheels. Spinning the turret around, Carris searched for targets. They lost in the infantry but now Ghosts were chasing them. Firing long bursts, she was able to break up the nimble vehicles’ frontal armor and detonate the engines. Over the rough terrain, it was difficult to keep the weapon on target. 

Out of the sky, Banshees appeared. She turned the gun on them but the Banshees banked and rolled, avoiding the arches of fire. But behind them, Longswords appeared. Firing cannons and missiles, one Banshee exploded, another flamed out, and the third turned to try and engage the UNSC aircraft. 

Behind the Longswords, Albatrosses appeared. All three swooped overhead and landed in a clearing ahead of them. They dropped their ramps and crew chiefs waved at the Warthogs to enter. Steele decreased speed, lined up the front of the M12 with the ramp of the center Albatross, and drove them inside. “We’re in, get us back to the  _ I’m Alone _ !”

***

Carris opened her eyes. Directly above her was the stark white light mounted on the ship’s bulkhead. Brushing a lock of her thick black hair from her eyes, she looked left. The medical bay was empty save for the nursing staff who occupied the small personnel station and checkpoint at either entrance of the ward. Above her, machinery whirred and beeped. The IV bag mounted on the stand was empty. It felt strange to be out of her armor after so long. She was colder and her pale skin bristled with goosebumps. 

A doctor in a white lab coat appeared with a tray of food. She set it down on the table while a nurse approached with another bag. Together, they detached the empty one and replaced it. A moment later, the fluids drained and began running down the tube into her arm. As the nurse left, the doctor turned and smiled down at Carris. 

“Good morning, Petty Officer. How are you feeling?”

“Better, doctor...”

“Ebrahimi, but everyone calls me Dr. Jasmine.” She was a bit short, scholarly, and well-kept. Her thick black hair was tied into a voluminous ponytail which defied the grooming standards. The sleeves of her white lab coat were rolled up to the elbow and her glasses slid down on her nose. “I think you’re ready for some solid food. Just take it slow.”

Carris sat up and glanced down at the tray. There were two slices of bread with butter on it, orange slices, two pieces of pork with gravy on it, green beans, and a cup of water. 

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Carris took the napkin and tucked into the collar of her black t-shirt. She gingerly took a bite from the first slice of bread and then scarfed it down in a few moments. Just as she began to dig in, doing her best to remain polite, she noticed Jasmine was still staring at her. The doctor was smiling kindly but her eyes remained very curious and thoughtful. It was as if she knew something Carris didn’t. But she didn’t know how to ask so she just looked back down at her food.

“I thought you should know Lieutenant Delaney, head of our ONI Sec-One division, has passed on the data you collected. Your mission is complete. Unfortunately, the ONI Prowler you were previously serving on can’t rendezvous with us. They’re back in UNSC space and we’re in Covenant-controlled territory. A larger enemy force arrived and cut off our escape so you’ll be with us for a while.”

“Hey, if she likes the food it won’t be so bad.”

Carris looked to the right to see two of the Marines who rescued her approaching. Both were in their utility uniforms and kept their sleeves rolled up just past the elbow. One was the blonde-haired driver, Steele, and the other was the sergeant, whose name she learned was Frost. Each of them carried their own tray of food.

“We came to check up on how you’re doing. You were practically asleep by the time we brought you on board,” Frost said. As they approached, Frost slid up next to Jasmine. Both exchanged a friendly, knowing nod. Both Marines sat down on nearby stools and began to eat.

“It’s better than what they served on that prowler,” Carris said quietly, uncomfortable with the amount of attention she was receiving. 

“We’re under NAVSPECWARCOM, like you,” Frost said. “Not quite as clandestine, though. Long range offensive operations. This ship has gone under some huge retrofits and modifications; a higher quality mess hall and galley is one of them.”

“Food isn’t allowed out of the mess hall.”

“Some of the rules are pretty lax around here,” Steele said as he bit into an apple. His deep blue eyes, similar to her own, glowed with a youthful, curious energy. “Even if they weren’t, that wouldn’t matter much to us.”

“To you,” Frost corrected. He smiled at her. “Although Dr. Jasmine makes for good company, you’re not going to be able to spend your whole time sleeping in the medical bay. Once you’re discharged, you’re free to stay with us. We have some spare bunks.”

Carris glanced between the two. Years had passed since she had worked with a team, let alone bunk in the same quarters. Not once had she roomed with Marines; they led an entirely different kind life than her. But the more she mulled it over, the more she didn’t feel like being shunted to a solitary room. They probably didn’t have one for her anyways. And something about company didn’t seem so bad on a new ship.

“Thank you, I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

They seemed professional enough, anyways.


End file.
